


Hunting Destiny

by phyreblade



Series: Destiny [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 100
Words: 337,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyreblade/pseuds/phyreblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bounty Hunter Kastiel seeks her destiny, through the Great Hunt and beyond, determined to win her place, secure her name so that none can ever again take from her what's most important. Follows the story line for the Bounty Hunter class created by Bioware. F/BH with Torian Cadera love interest. Other characters will be considered as the story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

                                                      

**Dromund Kaas**

"You get rid of it, or I will, Lucian. I'll not stand for it." Karen faced her husband in dreadful rage. He watched her sadly. There were times he wondered if Sith nature ran stronger in her than himself and never mind his own family's history of Sith blood and tradition. His brother used to fly into similar rages before they carried him off to be trained, anyway.

"She carries my child, Karen. My child! You can not expect me …" But Karen cut him off, abruptly prodding him in the chest with her small, slender fingers pointed sharply.  Lucian inhaled a ragged breath.

" _I_ carry your child, your true child. That bastard will never take from me what's mine, damn you! Do you understand me?"

He glared at her, "That's what this is about, isn't it? It's not even care or concern for the _child_ you're pregnant with. Not so long as you are bettered by its place, its birth!"

"Don't think to undermine me, Lucian! I'll do whatever I have to, to protect what I've worked so hard for!"

"You've worked for nothing, damn you! I've _given_ you everything!"

"And now you've betrayed me! You lying cheat! Right here in our own home.  You couldn't even manage it with someone worth having -- just a lowborn immoral slut, a mere serving girl! Do what's required, see that that whore's pregnancy is destroyed; destroy her, too, even!  I don't care!"  Karen stomped her foot against the pretty tiles of the estate's floors with imperious exactitude.  Like she was the Emperor himself, tossing out a decree!  She sneered up at him, looking far less beautiful than he had ever imagined she could look, "I swear to you, Lucian.  If you don't do as I say, I'll bury your name in so much awful scandal, drag it through so much filth and muck that you will never again be able to wear that damn uniform of yours!  And that's _only_ if you manage to live through my family's retribution!"

Lucian suddenly hated her.  It filled him, burned through him wholly and completely.  Like a leaden thing, the hate settled into the warmth of his belly and it stayed.  

"I'll never forgive you for this, Karen. I mean it!" He stared at her, his nostrils flaring with his anger. She felt a thrill at the way his dark brown eyes gleamed in his anger, felt the tingling pulse of desire between her legs. But only because she knew she'd won. He would do it. Just as she demanded. The threats to his career and his life had worked. She wondered for a moment which one of those things had been the tipping point.

"You say it like I care, Lucian!  Just do it!"

Lucian growled. But he spun around to leave the room, his hands clenched into fists against his sides. His wife's maniacal laughter followed him. Gods, he thought. Don't let my child with that damn woman ever sound like that. Her shrill madness appalled him, the weakness and lack of control it displayed. He wondered if he would ever be able to look at her again without remembering this moment, seeing her like that -- her blonde tresses pulled tight into a coifed style and her silver-blue eyes blazing with craziness up at him.  Would he ever be able to see her and forget, or gods ... could he ever touch her again, without wanting to strangle her?  He would have to try, at the least.  He wouldn't lose his child to her, nor her blasted sister, either. Bitches!  They wouldn't win either of his children, damn them!

He stalked through the apartments, towards the kitchen where Karen had thrust Tamerie hours earlier. He could hear the bangs she was making against the locked pantry door's surface as he neared the room, and he stopped in place to listen to her, breathing hard.

Tamerie was too young for this fight, this deception they would have to make. She was too sweet and precious, always smiling and laughing through whatever challenge life threw at her.  She never despised him for owning her, buying her -- only laughed as she told him how much she loved him, regardless. He should send her far-off, somewhere she would be safe.  Maybe the Core Worlds, even.  But his every sense twisted with pain at the thought of losing her.

He hated himself just then.  Because he wasn't strong enough, not to resist the temptation of her love and attention.  For being unable to turn away and forget the shine of her blue eyes. If only he'd never given in to the pull, the desperate _want_ of her, not allowed himself the glory and wonder of their passion – then, he might have saved her for something better and more whole than the sad future which was all he could promise her, now.

Eventually it would destroy them both, he knew.

So he hugged her close to him, when she tumbled out of the pantry into his arms, gasping in fear and terror. He hugged her and caressed her only slightly rounding tummy, leaning down to whisper in her ear how dreadfully sorry he was she was so afraid for just that long a time. Then he set her away from him, gazed seriously into her flower-blue eyes, and he told her what they were going to do to keep their baby safe.


	2. Mandalorian Rescue

Aily Cadera strode through the Kaas City spaceport. Hardened residents of the city scrambled out of her way, terrified as they took in the plates of _beskar_ that adorned her slim frame and the cold, hard helmet that obscured her head and face. Her dark blonde hair was braided, long enough to extend out from beneath the back edge of her helmet all the way down her back, until it just kissed the very top of her tailbone; not the wisest adornment, but she was practiced at keeping men's hands from gripping her braids in the middle of a fight. Her armor was carefully designed, the brown and yellow markings designating her the hero of countless arena matches on Geonosis.

" _Jicoln,_ " her husband's name skittered through her mind. A regular, ready monotony in her brain, actually.  But she ruthlessly pushed away the thought of him again. He was gone, she reminded herself. She could count on no one, now, but her own self and her own skill. Jicoln had failed; he'd failed their clan and their family, and he'd fled in order to preserve the last bit of self and honor he had left. After three years huddling in the wilds of the ruined world of Taris, few believed he even lived still.

Korwis certainly didn't, she thought, glancing at the warrior who strode along next to her. One of Jicoln's oldest friends, he still stood firmly loyal to the Mandalore when Jicoln flouted his call and led a revolt against his rule. Now Jicoln was gone and Korwis was left behind, trying to defend Aily herself. And her son, too.

Torian was almost running alongside her, his small legs pumping as he tried to keep pace. She smiled, subtly slowing her stride in order to accommodate her son's step. He didn't look up at her, just stepped closer, showing in his own five year-old manner that he would protect her, fight for her. Her son would _never_ be a coward, she thought. No, he would succeed, would prevail even as Jicoln had not. And he would have to do it through the terrible impediment that his father's name had now become.

" _Damn you, Jicoln_." Perhaps she should do as Korwis offered, should take him as her new husband, divorcing herself of Jicoln's name entirely. He had nodded when he made her the promise, declared himself proud enough to adopt Torian as his own chosen son. But Aily continued to refuse his overtures. She stupidly persisted in loving her husband, remained proud to call herself _his_ and her son _his_. Maybe someday her pride would bend enough she could let go of the sentiment.

Torian looked up at her, then. His blonde hair was so like her own, thick and wavy around his face. But his features – the shape of his jaw, the way his eyes were shaped – they were all Jicoln. Every time Torian looked at her, he gazed at her through eyes the same soft golden brown as his father's. Her heart ached every time. No, she thought. She would always love Jicoln too much to take his name from their son.

So she had come to Dromund Kaas, determined to secure what honor was left in the Clan Cadera name. While their _aliit_ was scattered among the entirety of the _Mando'ad_ after the revolt, those who still held onto the name would have to demonstrate time and again they refused to back down. Or be defeated.

When Dorvan laughed at her, calling her whore of the _aruetii_ , she had denounced and challenged him. If she failed, if she allowed such an incredible insult to be offered up to her, then she would always be what they labeled her. She refused to let that happen. She was no one's whore, had never been whore. She was _Mando'ad_ and she would show them all what that meant.

She would fight Dorvan in front of the entirety of the Enclave, in front of them all, with warriors and fighters assembled from throughout the clans. There, before the Mand'alor himself, right in front of Artus, whom her husband had spurned and denounced, she would demonstrate the strength and resolve of Clan Cadera. She'd win her son that much of the pride of his name today.

Aily emerged from the spaceport straight into the dark and humid air of the Dromund Kaas jungle. She breathed deeply. She'd heard there were monstrous creatures, awesome beasts worthy of hunting, that populated the jungle environment. She would've liked to spend time out there, in a good hunt. But Dorvan would be her target this day. Not the animals of this planet but the _mir'osik_ who had been stupid enough to taunt and insult her, rather.

That's when she heard the first shrieks and yells of alarm, looked over and saw a group of large, rowdy-looking men, three humans -- one of them was lifting a small girl child up into the air, his beefy hand clasping her neck into a terrible grip. He was shaking the child, hard enough the girl's long black braids whipped back and forth in the air. She gurgled sickly, loud enough Aily could hear even from where she stood. 

But the girl kept fighting, like a fierce kitten pretending it was a mighty nexu beast! She kicked her small, skinny legs, lashing out with her tiny feet against the man's face. That, and she clawed against his hand and arm, digging her fingers in and leaving long, angry gouges in his pock-marked skin. He yelled angrily, especially when his two fellows laughed hard at seeing the damage the frantic little girl was making.

Aily frowned, just starting to wonder where the child's parents were, when she saw a woman rushing frantically towards the group.  She was yelling at the men to let loose of her child. Aily stepped forward only slightly, gripping the lower edge of her electrostaff as she noted several soldiers in the doorway of the spaceport, each of them eyeing the altercation and arguing with each other about how they should respond. "Useless," she grunted, heard Korwis grunting his agreement.

The girl's mother grabbed her just then, still screaming at the men. She pulled against her daughter's waist, frantically trying to take her away from them and succeeded in ripping her from the man's grip. The girl screamed hoarsely as her face was caught against the man's glove, the metallic ridges ripping through her tender flesh. Her blood spurted wildly against her mother's shoulder as the woman stumbled back, holding her close.

It was ugly; facial wounds always bled so heavily, Aily knew. It was still hard to see a child bleeding like that.

"Damn you! There's no reason for this! If you have to kill me, then do it. But leave my children be!" The woman was crying, a terrible stream of tears streaming down her face. The violent thugs facing her were unimpressed, though. They kept glaring towards the child, in fact.  The erstwhile leader of the little gang snarled at the woman, roughly wiping the blood off his face from where her daughter had raked him with her little nails, "You dumb bitch! It's the kids we're supposed to kill! You? You're just bonus, if we can get you. You want to live, you hand over that little brat of yours now. It's nothing to me, either way."  He abruptly pointed towards the spaceport doors, "Pol! You and Stoven go and find the other two."

Korwis snarled an angry sound, a sentiment Aily completely agreed with. A bounty on the life of a child held no honor.  A child could not offer up some worthy fight, could not defend itself so well as a warrior worth facing.  Children were a promise, rather.  The whispers of battles far-flung in the future, so that they should be lauded, held up and cherished -- _protected_.

It's no wonder whoever had paid for something this ugly approached such lowborn creatures as these three ... men. An honorable member of the _Mando'ad_ would have regarded the request only long enough to beat and lash against the one who insulted them in making it, rather.

Now Aily watched with some degree of amazement, as the slim woman sneered up at her child's attackers. Such bravery in a lower-born civilian of the Empire was truly impressive. Aily grunted softly in true respect of the woman's tenacity.

"I hope you rot! Bastards!" The woman snarled at them, lashing out with one hand to punch the apparent leader of the trio as hard as she could, still holding her little girl tightly against her side. Pol and Stoven burst into raucous laughter as their compatriot loosed an "Oof" and curled around his midsection.  The humiliation was immense and incredible, even passerby stopping to watch giggled and pointed at them.

The brute roared, thundering angrily as he thrust both his jeering comrades away from him.  He was enraged at their mockery and livid at the woman and her damn fool kid for clawing him, too!  The pretty whore was already running away from him, clutching the kid tightly into the center of her chest. 

He roared after her, and suddenly yanked a plasma grenade free from a pouch on his belt. Aily wondered for one wild moment where the filthy _chakaar_ had obtained such an expensive piece of weaponry; they were hardly common. But that only made it more likely he had little concept how to use the thing or to even understand what sort of blast radius the thing might create.

She whipped around, yelling towards her son, "Torian! _Gar_ _hukatiir_!" The boy never hesitated, too practiced at obeying his mother's directions.  He leaped rapidly into the shadows lining the outer walls of the spaceport, pulling his dagger even as he flew. Aily jumped into the space front of him, growling as she watched the grenade sail through the air to fall with a plunk of sound against the soft soil right in the path of the fleeing woman and her child. Aily was certain she herself, and her son, too, were well out of range of the blast. But so many others were not.

Aily watched the woman freeze in place, as the light on the grenade blinked red, red, red – then green. For just a moment, _everything_ seemed to stop. Aily heard Korwis calling aloud, "Everyone down!" And the woman shrieked just one last time, before spinning and curling herself into a ball around the small body of her child.  She used her own body to shield her daughter from the blast that suddenly, viciously ripped through the entire area.

The gas from the explosion leaped up into the air before igniting into the cruelest flames. Aily heard screams, wild and crazed shrieking sounds. Several burning figures ran in maddened and doomed circles before falling dead onto the ground. She leaned back and away from the heated air, watched as the explosion dissipated, and shook her head against the ringing in her ears.

She looked, to see that Korwis was already leaping, yelling a challenging cry towards the deranged assailant who had lobbed the grenade and now stood, frozen in something like horror as he regarded the results. The Mandalorian didn't allow him much time to contemplate, though. Korwis swung his _beskad_ , the blade swooshing through the air with an evil hiss, just before it embedded itself in the man's beefy chest. One of the others – Pol or Stoven, who could tell? – yelped and tried to run away. But Korwis neatly twisted in a smooth, engaging circle, sending his sword in an arc down across the man's back. The fellow screamed once, right before falling over into a bloody heap. The last man cried out, fearful and angry.  He actually raised a pitiful set of daggers like he would defend himself. But he was too late. Korwis grunted as he watched Aily's electrostaff thud against the very top of the man's head, caving in his skull and sending brains and gore flying in a squelching gush of sound. The poor fool had never even looked to see her jumping into the fray.

She yelled in triumph as she stood over the man's corpse, gripping her staff tightly with bloody fingers. Korwis smiled as he watched her, felt his groin grow tight and hard with hot desire. But he stayed silent, biting back his feelings just as several soldiers came trotting up with blasters drawn, yelling.

"Don't move, hunters!"

Aily rolled her eyes towards the soldiers, "Look, Korwis. They found the door to the spaceport! Just in time to clean up the mess, no less." The Imperials made several more disparaging sounds, not a few insults.  But the Mandalorians only stepped aside from the grisly remains of the three attackers. Aily watched them pick at the bodies.

" _Buir_!" Torian called to her from where he stood now, near the bodies of the fallen woman and her child.

The soldiers spun around, their weapons suddenly aiming towards the shouting figure. Aily growled at them. "If you stupid asses loose one single bolt towards my son, I'll rip your damn throats out with my bare hands." The Imperial commander gaped at her, as she stood there clutching her staff and scanning each and every one of the men in front of her with a ruthless glare. Behind her, Korwis rubbed the edge of his _beskad_ with one of his thumbs, eyeing it for sharpness.

Aily shot them all one more threatening glare, just before she spun around to stomp over towards her son. Korwis smiled behind his helmet as he ambled along behind her.

Torian was standing over the dead woman, pointing his dagger at her as Aily stepped up to him. He grunted towards his mother, " _Buir_ , she lives."

But Aily shook her head, looking at the ripped, bloody body sadly from behind her masked face. "There's no way, _ad_. She's been too greatly wounded. Look at all the blood she's lost. It was too much."

Torian shook his head, pointed down at the heap of bloody remains, "Not her. The little one."

Aily was startled, especially when she saw the woman's body twitch as something pressed up against it. She jumped towards the bloody scrap of flesh, reaching down to yank it up and away from what it covered. The small girl fell backwards, moaning pitifully in pain. She blinked up at Aily from a tiny face nearly soaked in blood, both her own and her mother's. She shrieked when she saw the Mandalorian helmet looming over, reaching up to punch as fiercely as she possibly could against it. Her tiny fist made a sorry clink as it hit the surface of Aily's visor.  The little girl was sobbing, sobbing, so that her tears left tracks in the blood and muck that covered her entire face

Aily crooned down at her, trying to calm the wounded child, assuring her she was safe. But Korwis patted her shoulder, gesturing down at the girl, "She hears nothing. Look at her ears, Aily. She was too close to the blast." And Aily sighed as she took in the heavy stream of blood that descended from both of the child's ears. The damage was severe. She would surely never hear again.

"She fought so fiercely, fights still. As her mother did. Truly impressive," Aily murmured as she watched the girl lay back against the ground to sneeze against the bloody snot running down out of her nose. Korwis nodded, "Already a strong warrior. Imagine her grown!"  Aily was imagining it, too. The battles this girl would make, the victories!  The Empire didn't deserve such a warrior!

Aily gestured towards the Imperial commander, "This child requires medical care."  He looked down at the girl, eyed her clothes and then her dead mother, too.  They were tidy and well-kept enough; someone provided well for them, at least.  But their station was still so much lesser.  Dregs, he thought. So he shook his head towards the Mandalorian, "There's no chance, this one will die shortly."

Aily scowled, "Not if she's treated."

But he only shrugged. "No one will pay for it. And she's too far gone."

Korwis glared at him, " _We'll_ pay. Where's the closest doctor?" The Imperial shrugged and pointed, "Kaas City, that way. You'll have to carry her yourself if you're looking to throw your credits away on a lost cause. I can't spare any of my men."

Korwis merely grunted as he reached down to retrieve the girl, listened to her crying even as she smacked his _beskar_ chest plate with a steady rain of blows. He tucked his head as close to her bloody ear as his helmet would allow and rumbled his voice, letting the vibration work to soothe the child. Until she finally tired and settled back against his arm, watching him through pain-glazed brown eyes.

Aily nodded as she moved towards the transport heading into the inner reaches of Kaas City, Korwis moving along behind her with his shattered burden. She snarled at several people sitting on the benches lining the transport, until they scrambled out of the way so that Korwis could sit, settling the bleeding, broken girl in the middle of his lap.

Aily watched her son regarding the warrior child. He yanked up a soft cloth, reaching out to gently wipe away the blood and grime covering the side of her face.  He leaned closer, trying to see lacerations streaming blood so steadily at least well enough to cover them under his tight fingers.  But the girl whimpered and Torian yanked his gaze up to see her watching him, her plump little lips quivering. She whimpered, held her hand out to touch Torian's face in turn.  But Torian shook his head, gently placing his finger against her lips, admonishing her to stay still, to keep it from hurting so very much.  To be brave, he seemed to say.  And even through the buzzing pain she had to be experiencing, the girl seemed to understand.  She subsided back against Korwis' arm, reaching up to grasp Torian's wrist where his hand still held the cloth against her face.  She bravely accepted the pain, so long as he stayed there against her.

Torian nodded, just as the transport slid into place at the city entrance. But he deliberately stayed close enough she could still see him, and the girl _never_ took her eyes away from him.


	3. Saying Goodbye

Lucian Phyre leaned on the door, listening to the calls for patience coming from inside. Behind him, the droids he'd commandeered from the hospital lockers methodically worked the controls on the hovering kolto-misting stretcher balanced between the two of them. He could just barely make out the huddled shape of the little girl lying small and silent beneath the green cloud of kolto. He felt his eyes sting with unshed tears again, but he lowered his head, tearing his gaze away from his child, before the tears actually fell.

" _Ah, Tamerie. I hoped our children would never pay the price for my failure. Never dreamed it would be so terrible, either_." He blinked, furiously. " _Never wanted you hurt, either, love._ "

The door was yanked open, then, and the large bulky shape of the clinic's physician filled the space in front of him. "Loosh? What the hell?" Tobies Moor stood there, jaw dropped as he considered the impossibly broken shape of his best and oldest friend.

He looked past him, then, towards the stretcher and the droids. The entire ensemble of characters was liberally soaked with the dark rain that was falling against the night-time sky above their heads. The scene was like something out of one of those novels Lucian used to read when they were on one of their long voyages in the Imperial Navy, when the missions came few and far between and there was so little else to do just to fill the time.

"Get inside, dammit. Before the rain washes away the kolto, at least!" Tobie waved the group inside, pulling and yanking the stretcher into the room behind the entrance-way foyer. He directed the droids to maintain treatment, as is, until he could better assess the patient, before turning back to Lucian.  His friend was slumped morosely into a chair at the desk just inside the room, bent so that he gazed down at the floor. Lucian was obviously busy formulating plans, as the pose was a long familiar one in Tobie's experience. The air of sad despondency, though – that was new.

For now, Tobie focused on the child. He scanned her quickly, noting her facial and cranial injuries with practiced ease. Just because he no longer served on an Imperial battle cruiser was no measure of his skill. Tobie was a damn good doctor, and he knew it. He applied every bit of experience he possibly could to treating this little girl with the care and alertness he sensed were so vital to his friend. This child mattered to Lucian, enough he'd snuck her down here, to him. And he'd repay that concern of Lucian's with his own precious attention.

He cataloged the child's wounds carefully.

Eardrums shattered beyond repair, so that natural hearing was a permanent loss. Implants could work to provide a cybernetic solution to the problem. But implants on a child would require regular, routine care over the years of time it would take for her to grow and develop into an adult. Expensive as hell.  He glanced at Lucian, knew he'd pay -- whatever the cost. Tobie shook his head.

Facial lacerations severe. Looked like something had mauled her. That, or someone ripped and gouged at her face. Who would do such a thing?  So the scars would be permanent. There was no solution to that sort of niggling problem. He might be able to mitigate the scarring only somewhat, and even that would take regular treatment for years to come.

Her neck was … it looked swollen and awry. If he had to guess, she'd actually been hung, strung up. But not by a rope. More like a … had someone held her up, by the neck? He shook his head again, this time in disgust. Her trachea was severely bruised. There was interior bleeding in the esophagus, as well. He suspected some of the cartilage in her throat had been lacerated when her throat was twisted and mishandled. On a positive note, her larynx had not been seriously damaged; it was bruised but would heal well by morning at the latest.

She'd not be mute as well as deaf, at least.

Tobie worked to clean the girl, removing her torn and bloody clothes and washing all of the blood off of her. He treated her facial cuts and bruises with various directly-applied kolto packets. Then he smoothed gels on her sore ears, to soothe the pain he knew she had to be feeling, there. Finally, he dressed her in a clean linen gown, a green one.

She woke up about halfway through Tobie's motions. She looked around warily, as if trying to find something. Or someone. But there wasn't any fear in her gaze, just pain. And something like sadness, too. As if what she was looking for wasn't there for the finding. She did see Lucian, though, and Tobie noted how her brown eyes teared up at the sight of him. She looked so glad to see him that Tobie wanted to cry, too. Then she looked up at Tobie himself, questioning, pained.

But she didn't say anything and Tobie didn't, either. Mostly because she wouldn't have been able to hear him even if he had spoken. But also because his head was spinning as he looked at her eyes. At Lucian's eyes, set in a tiny feminine face.

" _Ah, Loosh. What did you do?_ " Even though adultery was illegal according to Imperial edict, it was hardly uncommon. What wasn't common was for high-ranking members of the Empire to even keep their by-blow children. Such children were _never_ acknowledged, not in Tobie's experience. Most often, they were simply destroyed. Abortions were one of the most common procedures that Tobie was asked to perform in his little clinic in the Lower Reaches of Kaas City, in fact.  Frightened slave girls usually, who tried to keep from being singled out by angry owners.  Or their wives.

He patted the girl on the hand, gently, gesturing that she rest. He directed the two droids to continue treating her injuries as he'd noted and to apply necessary pain medication. Then he turned, finally, to join Lucian in his pensive position at the nearby table Tobie used as a desk and work space combined. Lucian hadn't moved, really, except to lift his head as he watched Tobie work over his daughter. He'd even smiled when the girl looked over at him.

The two men sat there quietly for several moments. They'd served together for nearly seven years, both of them young, brash officers in the Imperial Navy, both of them gifted medicinal experts. For a time, they'd competed to see which one of them could outperform the other. Tobie had been dedicated to treating and healing the injured, to fix their broken bones and torn flesh.  But mostly from a sense he was helping, that he was doing some good. He lacked something essential to a battlefield medic, though, that Lucian possessed in spades. An easy ability to triage, to smoothly decide which patient would survive and which would not, moving on from those he knew would die seemingly without care or concern. Lucian never seemed to suffer guilt or remorse for the lives he couldn't save, unlike Tobie.

They'd argued so many times, until finally Lucian had waved a hand in Tobie's face, swearing. "Dammit, Tobies Moor! You're not cut out for this. Not because you're not a damn good doctor but because doctoring war-torn soldiers, just being there when they die and knowing that's all you can do – you can't handle it! Get out before it's too late, do something that makes you better!" And that's precisely why they sat together in Tobie's clinic, now, down among the dregs in the Lower Reaches, where Tobie so often got to feel he was doing some small decent good for the ordinary people of the Empire. He left it to Lucian to win the medals and accolades.

Now this.

"I have no right to ask, Tobie. But I'm going to, anyway." Lucian spoke so quietly Tobie almost didn't hear him.

"Are you joking, Lucian? Seriously? You do remember the times you saved my life, right? How many was it?" Tobie nodded towards him, held up one of his hands and cut it abruptly through the air. "No!  Let's not talk about what rights you have where I'm concerned."

Lucian snorted. "This isn't some simple healing I'm asking, Tobie, and you know it."

Tobie eyed the child again, where she was lying there on the medical bed with the droids looming over her. Every so often a small moan of pain or distress escaped her. It was pitiful. "I know, Loosh. Gods, what happened? What the hell did you do? And void's balls, why? You're going to lose everything! All your work, your rank!"

Lucian's eyes went dark. "I won't make excuses and I won't speak of my _feelings_. It is what it is, that's all. I can only do what's best and possible for my children. It's all that's left, and that's pathetically limited at this point, as you well know."  And Lucian spoke. He told Tobie of the woman he cared for, the house he'd set her up in. He said how he'd hidden her after Karen learned of their affair, how he visited her over the years only as he could, how he thrilled over the children they had made together. Not one but three. And two were lost now. He didn't even know where they were, if they lived, and his eyes gleamed wetly as he said it. The attack had been stunningly effective in destroying his small secret family. He might have lost them all, in fact, except for a group of Mandalorians jumping in to save this one tiny girl child of his at the very end.

"Mandalorians? Who knew they would be so quick to do such a thing?" Tobie shook his head in bemusement.

Lucian shrugged. "They called her a 'warrior child' and carried her all the way to the hospital. I think they would have carried her right back out with them if they hadn't had business elsewhere to contend with. Even then, they promised to return and retrieve her. I snuck her out only after they'd gone." He smiled wryly. "It was actually rather fascinating to watch them. And pleasing. I was … grateful."

Tobie sighed, then. "What are you going to do, Loosh?"

Lucian canted his head. He pushed a datapad across the table, until Tobie took it up in his hand to study the information Lucian had recorded there. "There's an account in her name, for one. I've transferred a sum, there. It should cover all her treatments, because I know there will be many over the years. There should be some small bit left over for her once she's grown." Lucian became deadly serious, then. He looked at Tobie with firm, hard eyes. "Don't let them find her, Tobie. If anyone of Karen's family ever knows she survived, they'll hire more killers to come after her. Eventually they'll find someone capable of doing more than blindly tossing a fucking grenade at her."

"Lucian, no! You can't think to confront Karen! Damn, Lucian, no! If she's as mad as you say, she'll kill you. She'll really kill you!" Tobie waved his hands wildly. "You have to run. You take her, once she's healed enough, and you run and hide!"

But Lucian was shaking his head. "Maybe. But I can't leave Lusiel and Khyriel, either. No, Tobie! I won't abandon them, not like that! Even if I die tonight, it's better than leaving them behind."

Tobie's shoulders slumped. Lucian's devotion to his children had always been extraordinary. Every voyage had been marked with stories about their development, their achievements. He'd heard endlessly about his daughter's first steps and his son's first words. He knew Lucian loved them more than anything, certainly more than he cared for their mother and even more than the Empire he served so faithfully, too. He only never imagined his love for them included several half-siblings, as well.

Tobie looked back at the medical bed. "She looks a lot like your Lusiel."

Lucian grunted. "They all look like me, Tobie. All of them. Tamerie once joked that my genes didn't allow for doubt, as if they were setting out to prove something. And maybe they were." He looked over towards his daughter again. "Kas is special, have no doubt, Tobie. Of all my children, she's more like me than any of the others. She thinks like me, in fact."

Tobie smiled at the pride in his voice. "Kas? Her name's Kas?"

"Kastiel. One of the old gods, Tamerie thought. Her mother used to tell her stories. It means 'to cover by God'. Tamerie liked it." He smiled sadly. Then he gestured once again towards the datapad. "I included a recorded message for her. When she's older maybe. And some others, too. You'll understand when you see them."

Tobie sighed, near crying. "You don't believe you'll come back."

Lucian reached out, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. "No. I don't. It doesn't mean I won't try. But even if I manage to beat Karen and get the children out of there, her family will surely come after me, then. My chances aren't good, my friend."

He climbed wearily to his feet, then, before moving across the room to where his daughter was laying. He leaned over her, so that she could see him. She blinked up at him, tired and hurting, and she whimpered. "Da," she whispered, and her small voice quivered. He smoothed his fingers down the unmarked side of her face, crooning to her how much he cherished her and how glad he was for her. Then he leaned over, close to her damaged, bandaged ear, and he whispered his wish, even knowing she couldn't hear him, not anymore and not ever again. _Damn you, Karen_ , he thought.

But to Kastiel, he was warm. He said to her, "Be everything I've dreamed you could be. Be strong. Be brave. Be safe. I hope you never forget how much we loved you. Goodbye, my little one." Then he moved back and away from the bed. He nodded towards Tobie, who still stood frozen as he watched him. The last thing he heard as he walked out the door was Tobies Moor's final promise.

"I'll cherish her as my own, Lucian. You have my word."

It was enough.

* * *

 

Dorvan pressed her hard. He was a large warrior, although he didn't loom over her too much. But his bulk lended him strength enough, that Aily had to dance out of the way of the swings he made with the two exceedingly sharp cortosis blades he wielded. She finally shot a glancing blow to his left knee that felled him smoothly, leaving her to stand over him, her staff clutched in her sweaty grip, as she contemplated the downed warrior.

Aily reached down to seize for herself the blade he'd dropped to the ground when his knee gave out underneath him. She waved it in his face. "Your weapon is mine! As is my honor! Say it and live to fight again!"

Around where they panted, glaring at each other, the crowd grumbled and shifted. The warriors from so many clans looked to see what Dorvan would do and Aily wasn't surprised when he shot a glance and a growl of frustration. To have so many witness your defeat was a tough blow. But he could get up and walk away, could learn from the experience, could live. Or he could die.

Aily left the choice to him, because it really didn't matter to her. Her honor had been reaffirmed, her son's honor had been reaffirmed. That was all that mattered, in the end.

Dorvan finally nodded, grudgingly, even though his eyes remained hard and mean. Aily grunted, turning to leave. That's when Dorvan called out to her, yelling, "Prove it!" She turned back to him, frowning. The warriors gathered around them quieted, too, everyone straining to listen. Over Dorvan's shoulder, Aily could see Artus – Mandalore, she had to remember to think of him as Mandalore – scowling as Dorvan pulled himself back to his feet, leaning heavily on one leg as he snarled at her.

"Prove you're not a disloyal dog like Jicoln Cadera. Show us, all, that you fight for Mandalore. Bring us Jicoln's head, give it to Mandalore as proof." Dorvan pointed a large, round finger in her face. Aily glanced around, saw the faces of the warriors. While many were angry enough to mumble about Dorvan's temerity in the face of defeat, the gall he showed in issuing yet another challenge after she'd already overcome one – there were still far too many gazes that dropped, too many sidelong glances, too many mumbles about Aily's real loyalty.

Mandalore pushed his chin up, yelling so that he could be heard. "The challenge was made and won already, Dorvan. There's no need for more."

Dorvan clenched his jaw, unwilling to argue with Mandalore in front of so many. But Aily nodded. "Very well, Dorvan. You'll have your proof. Will know that Clan Cadera is loyal to Mandalore. You'll see it for yourself. I vow, today, that I myself will bring Mandalore Jicoln's body, or die in the trying. Then you will know that we Caderas honor the _Resol-Narre_ , because it will be a Cadera who destroys Jicoln."

Dorvan grunted. "Your vow is witnessed, Aily Cadera. I'm satisfied."

Aily turned then, finding her son where he still stood silently next to Korwis, his chin held high in that pugnacious manner that reminded her yet again of his father. She stepped over to them, to her son that she fought for, and to the man she was now certain would teach and guide him. Because she knew there was little chance she'd defeat Jicoln. If she did, it would only be through his own concession.  And her husband would never concede.

Korwis was watching her with bright blue eyes blazing hot and wild. He knew. Torian, though. She looked at her son. Torian didn't know his father, had never fought alongside him, had never known him. Jicoln's revolt began while Torian still nursed. He was only learning to walk when Jicoln disappeared onto Taris. Her son continued to believe no one could win against his mother, because no one ever had, in his experience.

So she turned to Korwis. "You must do this. Only promise me. He will always have his father's name. He must show them, Korwis! He must show them the _aliit_ is truly _mando'ad_. Promise me!"

Korwis nodded. "It will be done, Aily." Then he glanced over, watchful. "Mandalore comes."

Aily turned to face Artus, nodding as he stepped closer. "You honor me, Mandalore."

Mandalore waved a hand. "Forget that. We have always been friends, Aily. Don't let me lose your friendship, not like I lost his." He sighed, then, and his shoulders slumped. "I didn't want this, never wanted this to happen."

Aily shook her head. "What we want and what we get are very often two very different things, old friend."

Mandalore looked down at Torian, eyed his big golden brown eyes looking up at him. "I could take him as my own, Aily."

"No. You won't. He's Jicoln's son, and that won't change. I won't have it. He'll do what is required to restore our clan's honor. You will have no say in his course, Artus. Do you understand?" Aily glared at him, her chin pushed out firmly, challengingly.

But Mandalore only chuckled, unperturbed in the face of the warrior's offense. "Leave off, Aily. It'll be as you say. He'll remain a Cadera, and fight every step of the way for it, too. It's a hard course you've set him on but he's your blood. Perhaps even more than Jicoln's. It's good." He glanced around, considering. "I was hopeful this would be the end of it, Aily. I see now my hopes were foolish. Perhaps our children will fix what it is we broke so badly, then. _Re'turcye mhi_!"

Aily watched as Mandalore walked away. He didn't look back. She sighed as she turned once again to face her son. She knelt in front of him, speaking softly, then. "My _ad_. You will always be so. I have loved you and always will. Remember that, when the times are at their worst, that you were precious to me. Look to Korwis, he will show you the way. Someday you will show them all that Cadera is a name of pride and honor once again. I am proud of you, even as I think on it."

" _Copaani gaan_?" Korwis asked her, his eyes shining. But Aily shook her head. "Not in this, no, Korwis. Just …" And Korwis nodded at her, solemnly. He whispered his farewells, then. He didn't speak of his feelings, only because there was no need. That, and Aily would not have accepted them. Not even now. She only stood there and watched as Korwis guided her son out of the enclave, his hand firm on the boy's shoulder. She didn't cry. She was _Mando'ad_. Tears weren't necessary when a warrior departed.

* * *

 

Mandalore sent her son the _beskar_ gauntlets she'd worn as she fought and died under the hot Taris sun. Torian clutched them when Korwis handed them to him. He turned and looked out over the red sky of Geonosis, frowning.

"She died as a warrior, didn't she, _vod_?" He looked up at Korwis, then, his features puckering with concern.

"Yes, _ad'ika_. Very much a warrior."

Torian nodded. "I'm _her_ son."

Korwis smiled. "She lives in you now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original Bounty Hunter playthrough was named, yes, for the angel Castiel from the show called "Supernatural". For those interested, the name really does mean, "To Cover by God." According to old lore, the angel Castiel was the Angel of Thursday, of changes and travel. He would help anyone who was born on a Thursday. He was also the angel of the planet Jupiter.
> 
> In the show, "Supernatural", Castiel is played by the actor Misha Collins. He comes to Earth to defend humankind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. The hero character of the show, Dean Winchester, considers Castiel one of his best friends.


	4. Not Just a Mentor

Kastiel ducked her head as she entered the cantina, trying to avoid striking her forehead against the top edge of the doorframe, in fact. Sullustans were generally shorter than humans and their buildings reflected that more diminutive stature of theirs. Luckily, Kastiel only hit her head one single time, shortly after arriving on Sullust, and she never forgot to duck again.

Kas never really forgot anything. Her ability to remember everything - every sensation, color, feel, even smell – everything and anything of her experience was part of her own peculiar skill set, one she used often as she went about her jobs. What she did forget … well, that was deliberate, a willful setting aside of information and details that she didn't want to dwell on.  So she didn't, period. From what she could tell from talking to others, her concept of "forgetting" wasn't necessarily truly forgetting, either. More like, "just not thinking about that", which to her was just as close to a "forget about it" as anything might be.

Kastiel glanced around the cantina, which was purely busy, of course. Like most cantinas the place was teeming with characters from varied species and as many worlds, even if Sullustans did make up a fairly large number of the cantina-goers right then. But Sullustans were among the least xenophobic of species in the galaxy, making their home system a hot spot for visitors from everywhere and anywhere. Kas spied several Wookies, bent over or sitting down near the back of the cantina, and even a Talz, his bright white fur glimmering as he chortled over something there near the bar.

"What's the matta with yer face?" An obscenely drunk human almost fell over onto Kastiel as he spoke. She rolled her eyes as she watched a spot of drool gather at his lips. Men, she thought. So precious few of them worth anything more than a laugh. And even then it was so hard to laugh sometimes.

"If I were you, I'd be far more worried about the state of your own face. You know, before I smash it with my fist." She shook her head at him, causing the ends of her black hair to smooth along the soft curve of her jaw. A small braid along the right side of her face was designed to tease the eye away from her scarred face. The effort was sometimes lost on the idiots around her.

"Hey! No need to be like that. Just … your face looks kinda chewed up. And metallic, too." The drunkard laughed. But then he scanned her figure with a telling gaze. "Hell, I'd be willing to give you a toss, never mind. Sure thing, yea," he said, eyeing her breasts as they swelled against the edges of her thick leather chest armor.

Kastiel raised her eyes heavenward, praying for patience to whatever old god might still be listening, an old habit she took from her mother, who'd delighted in sharing stories about the old gods with her children. But she was saved from replying – or beating the damn fool, which she was more inclined to do by the moment – when Braden finally arrived, reaching out to snatch at the shoulder of the lout before he actually did something stupid as shit. Like fucking _touch_ her, as his upraised hands indicated he was about to try.

"Oh, ho! Old Jikso! Long time no see! Why don't you go molest one of the twi'leks looking for credits, huh? Leave off the hunters." Braden leaned in to whisper against the man's ear. "She'll cut off your cock. I've seen her do it before, Jikso, I swear! Better hightail it before it's too late!"

Kastiel smirked at the fool named Jikso. What an absolutely absurd name, too.  Totally matched the idiot, really. Jikso gulped at her as he cupped his genitals and began edging from her line of sight. Braden chuckled as he watched the man tiptoe away. Kas glared at the aging bounty hunter, then, "Cut off his cock? Where the fuck do you come up with crap like that?"

"Practice. I've taken it upon myself to protect the virtue of females in recent years." Braden shrugged. "At least some females, anyway. Okay. One female. Goodness knows, she needs it."

"Braden, I'm stunned. Have you finally fallen in love? Who is she?"

"Love? Hell no! I'm too damn old for that shit. There are more days I'm just glad to still be alive, in fact." Braden shook his head, "No, Kas. My days of woman-hunting are long over. I did manage to find a little castoff girl a couple years back, though. Been taking care of her."

Kastiel smoothed her fingers against the metal implants that sliced across her face, just under each eye. Just an anxious habit, which didn't necessarily mean she was hurting or even distressed. Only  _aware_ , is all. "You and Tobie always were a pair."

"Hey, now! Don't go comparing me to that weak-willed ninny of a doctor friend of yours, Kas! And I don't believe for a minute you were ever a castoff." He eyed her with a steady comprising gaze for just a moment, looked thoughtful. "No, always figured you were important to someone. You just ended up where you did very deliberately."  She stared at Braden very seriously. Too seriously. He knew all of a sudden that she was regarding him as a possible threat. He wasn't offended, not in the least. Her careful and methodical appraisal of targets was part of the reason he'd sought her out, here, anyway.

He'd been tossing jobs her way for several years now, and that despite the regular complaints from Tobies Moor, who'd become a friend of his after he stumbled into the man's clinic with a hole in his stomach a good seven years ago. Tobie had gladly doctored his wounds. He hadn't been so glad when his foster daughter took to following after Braden asking questions about hunting. And especially when he helped hook her up with a first-time job.  The arguments had proved heated at times, especially when Kastiel struck out on her own.

_"Dammit, Kas! Your mother was killed by hunters!"_

_"Is that what they were, Tobie? I think we both know they were little more than thugs, just dumb brutes that were picked out of the crowd at some low-class cantina, most like. Gods, Tobie! I want to be able to take on the next set of bastards that come for me, can't you understand that?"_

Braden hadn't been meant to overhear that argument. He'd certainly not tried to. And he never acknowledged it.

Even at nineteen, though, Kastiel was already making a small name for herself. Wasn't even unusual lately for someone to call Braden asking how to get in touch with her, in fact. Her skills in a fight were more than enough, of course. But she could as easily fix what she broke, too. Good 'ole Tobie had invested a really serious level of medical ability in the girl. It meant her jobs were mostly protective in nature, with her usually acting as guard or bodyguard. Not that she wasn't a deadly as shit opponent if circumstances required it, either. Braden himself would hesitate to take her on, if asked to.

He remembered telling Mako about her. " _Fast as hell with a blaster and she always hits what she shoots at. She can look over a battlefield and systematically take it apart, in minutes flat. You should see her go at it – like fucking art!_ " Tobie had gotten a funny look on his face when Braden assured him of Kastiel's skills and abilities. He muttered something about her father, in fact. Braden hadn't pressed him to clarify.

For now, he shook his head. "What have you been up to out here, Kas? This wasn't one of my jobs," Braden glanced around. He wasn't sure he would've sent Kastiel anywhere close to Sullust, now that he thought on the subject. Too many Imperial eyes were in the system and Kas tried avoiding attention from that particular set.

Kastiel shrugged. "Hired by an old gangster to watch over his son. Apparently, the kid ran up against a Sith. Didn't go too well for him, obviously. His brother died and he barely pulled through. It'll take him years and loads of implants. He'll be half machine by the time they're done with him."

"So bodyguard and sometime medic?"

"Hey, it's a living. Job's wrapping up, though. Jarvis is moving his son closer to Republic space pretty soon. Get the feeling he isn't too keen on the Empire at the moment. At least that's how I'm taking all the times he says something like 'fuck 'em, all!'"

Braden leaned back as a tiny twi'lek waitress reached between them to place drinks on the table. Kas passed her a credit chip, complete with tip. She watched as Braden hunkered over his drink after the waitress moved away. He was finally coming to the meat of this little meeting, she knew. Braden swirled the liquor around on his mouth, swallowed, "Good. You'll be free for another job soon enough, then. Cause I need you, Kas. I don't think there's another hunter better suited to pull this one off. I've already starting putting the team together."

Kastiel sipped her drink, carefully regarding him. "What's the job?"

"Rumors are starting to move through the systems pretty quick, of course. But it's important we put the team together before we start really talking business."

She shook her head. "I don't know, Braden. You know I'm leery about working too long with any team. And if this is a job that already involves rumors …?"

"Yea, I know, Kas. But this? Kas, it comes from the Enclave itself! It'll bring you to the attention of the clans when you pull it off!" Braden was adamant. "Think what it would mean if you had backing like that!"

She stared at him, thinking. "Why would the Mandalorians look outside their numbers for a job?"

"Tradition, in this case." Braden leaned back. "Look, you're literally the only hunter I want for this. You have the raw talent, the nerve and determination, the sheer damn bravery to get through anything thrown at you – you can do this, I know it! Just … here." Braden held out a datapad, letting Kastiel look over the map and directions he'd downloaded on the device. He knew Kastiel would remember the information once she looked at it. "I'll be there. I want you to meet up with us by Zhellday of next week."

"Nal'Hutta, Braden? Gods, that's a cesspool."

"Certainly a far cry from Sullust, yea. You're not going to find a LavaRide there, at least. They might be able to profit from a mudslide. But who the hell would want to go sliding through any sort of Hutt-slimed mud, huh?" He chuckled. But Kastiel was still frowning at him.

"Why the Hutts?"

"We need to use them, to get you into the running." Braden leaned in close again. "Come on, Kas. Just meet me there. It's Mandoes! You've watched them for years, I know you have. And I know you'll want this."

Kastiel snorted. "I don't even know what _this_ is."

"Trust me."

"Seriously?"  Kastiel laughed, "Who the hell do you think I am?"

"The Hunter who's going to win the Great Hunt. That's who."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sullust was located among the Outer Rim Planets. It straddled a couple of major trade routes and supported a thriving economy devoted mostly to starship, computer, and droid manufacture. One of its moons, Sulon, provided agricultural support to the planet's population. 
> 
> The LavaRide was a tourist attraction that provided visitors with the chance to be encased in special glass bubbles that moved through the many volcanoes on the planet. It was actually very safe, although a later sport that involved bubbled-players that tossed a ball back and forth proved more hazardous, although profitable to betting pools.


	5. The Poison Pit

Kastiel huffed an angry sigh as her boot slid through a puddle of … something green. She eyed the stuff balefully, unable to identify what it was or had been. " _Probably some kind of shit_ ," she thought with disgust. Hutt worlds were notorious for being covered in crap, even if most of it came in the form of waste spewed from their factories and manufacturing plants. Didn't surprise her that most of the people that surrounded the Hutts gradually grew to be just as shit brown and crap green as their worlds, too.

Kastiel generally avoided jobs that involved any creature that would sell its mother for a profit and few creatures were as notorious for such ploys as the Hutts. The last Hutt she'd worked for had been a minor slug, barely a spot in the Cartel, in fact, down on the planet of Tatooine. His name was Whuddle, which made it purely difficult for Kas every time she had to sing out how "great" he was, because intoning, "The great Whuddle the Hutt," was just plain funny somehow.

But she'd managed to keep from laughing during the two months she worked for him to find and destroy some jackass who thought he could assassinate the Hutt, nonetheless. She considered it a telling mark of her sheer professionalism.

She heard a grunt from the doorway in front of her and turned to watch as a skinny runt of a human was summarily booted, with a very literal boot placed squarely on his ass, right out the door. He fell with a loud oof onto the ground in front of Kastiel's boots. She grinned when she saw his face slide through the green shit. She looked up, then, to note the glare of warning the bouncer who'd thrown him out was slicing her way. Unperturbed, Kastiel winked at him, tossing him a saucy grin as he snorted and ducked back inside the cantina.

Kastiel looked up to note the name of the cantina again. "The Poison Pit … well, at least the name fits," she muttered.

The man lying at her feet groaned just then. "You could lend me a hand up, friend."

Kastiel looked down at him, noticed he was still covering the green goo with his body. She smiled, placing her foot firmly on his ass, using it to boost herself up and over the puddle of crap as she continued along her way into the cantina. She laughed as the fellow shouted curses towards her back. Get your entertainments when and where you can, Kas thought, as she stepped through the doorway into the Pit.

The bouncer was sitting on one of the benches just inside the entrance. He glared at her again. This time, Kas shrugged at him. But he backed up the glare with a more verbal warning, too. "Stay out of trouble, little girl. Or I'll stomp you!" She was unimpressed enough to snort at him, staring around at the milling crowd of humans, droids, and aliens.

She ignored the catcalls sent her way as she began pushing her way through the group towards the hallway leading off from the back of the room, knowing such idiots called out to any creature sporting a pair of tits. She'd had just as many fools ask her to hide her face before they'd actually touch her, in fact. Kas just plain didn't waste her time with men anymore. She focused on her work, rather.

Which was why Kastiel ended up with her blaster pointing firmly and smoothly in the face of a Nikto enforcer as soon as she stepped through the door leading into the room Braden had described to her, watching the scaled face of her target with pursed lips. The Nikto grunted as he faced her threat, his own rifle clenched in rough green fingers.

"Jory! That's our main attraction, dammit! And she'll blow your horns off if you're not careful!" Braden shouted at the Nikto from across the room. Kastiel grunted with satisfaction as the lizard man finally lowered his rifle and moved towards a seat nearby where Braden was standing.

"What is it with you telling people I'm going to remove their body parts?" Kas glared at Braden.

He shrugged. "You might."

"Nah. If I shoot someone, it's usually with the hope he won't get back up again."

"Good rule of thumb. You might live longer that way."

Kastiel shrugged. "That's the plan."

Braden chuckled. "Good to see you're settling in with the team already, at least. Jory, there, provides our security around our base of operations, basic muscle." Kastiel nodded towards the buffed Nikto. "And this is Mako, little genius I picked up on Nar Shaddaa. She'll provide us our intel and tech."

Kastiel nodded. "Good, yea, right. Nice meeting you both." Kas looked towards Braden, very serious. "Now. Tell me about this Hunt. What do the Mandalorians want from it?"

Braden smiled. "The Hunt is an old tradition among the clans. Although it's no longer confined only to the Mandalorians. Nor to the moon of Dxun, either. Now the competition is open to any and all of the great warriors throughout the galaxy. And every winner of the Hunt has gone along to great glory and riches."

"The Mandalore himself won a Hunt and challenged for the position of Mandalore, then. There was also Jew'la Nightbringer, the Defenestrator, and Bloodworthy, too. Hedarr Soongh was the youngest hunter to ever win the Hunt, and he went on to become a Mandalorian." The slight figure Braden called Mako provided the information with eagerness. Kas smiled as she took in the girl's enthusiasm.

"So it's a test of some kind? The Mandalorians want something from the winner?" Kastiel supposed, thoughtfully.

Braden nodded proudly. "Yes. Although none of us will know what they're hoping to find through this Hunt. Not until you win it, of course. And when you do, you'll be younger than Soongh was when he won." He watched Kastiel's eyes, saw her dark eyes deepen with the most tempting sort of desire, gleaming richly in the pale creaminess of her face. He smiled. Yes, she wanted it, wanted that title of Champion. Damn good start, he thought.

"Where do you need me, Braden?"


	6. Not Strong Enough

Kastiel just watched the gunslinger preening in front of her. Seriously. He preened. She was baffled, even looked around to verify she was inside the correct hangar. Because surely this peacock of a figure wasn't the dangerous fugitive from Imperial justice Mako had described earlier. But no. He even talked of himself in third person, and that was the name of the fellow she was looking for.  So he really _was_ Vexx – the very same Vexx she was hunting down, all to impress a rather wormy Hutt named Nem’ro.

Amazing, she thought, eyeing Vexx’ slicked back thick brown hair and pure mocha complexion. He was either such a brainless twit he just didn't know better. Or he was actually trying to _help_ her collect her bounty on him. Wasn’t even trying to hide, as she scanned his pristine and brightly colored coat and the pearled handles on his blasters. Brainless. Had to be. He crooned at her, even, "What's this? A lawman of sorts? Never thought I'd see the day dashing Vexx would be cornered by a brute enforcer." He tossed his snotty nose in the air.

Kas looked him up and down. "Dashing?  Did you really just say that you’re _dashing_?"

He snorted. A man should use real tissue for that level of snottiness, Kastiel thought. "As if I'm just some ordinary thug, hah! Vexx is the greatest quick-draw artist. Vexx can shoot your ears off so fast you won't even hear yourself scream."

Kas actually chuckled, then.  Sometimes, a person just had to laugh. "Vexx, I'm already deaf. And it has nothing to do with losing my ears. They're still attached, even. Not sure you understand how hearing works, you poor dog."

"What? You some kinda doctor?"

"Yep. You weren't smart enough for that particular career, huh?"

"Shut up!"  He didn’t handle criticism so well, either.  That was obvious enough when he yanked at the handle of his blaster, where it was tucked carelessly in the waistband of his fancy pants.  But he stopped short, stared down the long line of Kastiel’s weapon before he could even loosen his fingers from the pearly handle sticking up from his pants.  Kastiel tsked at him, "I thought you said you were the quickest, Vexx?"

"I fucking hate you!"

"Really? And here I thought we were getting along so well, too."

Vexx literally lunged at her, then. He barreled into her chest so hard they both tumbled to the ground, with Vexx trying to sit up on top of Kastiel's stomach. She saw his fist raise up over her face, all his fingers clenched roughly. She only blinked.  Then Kastiel snarled, burying her own fist in a solid socking blow deep into the expanse of his stomach before he could actually hit her. Vexx humphed in pained distress, curling up against the sour hurt that kept him from drawing in a breath. Not that she gave him time enough to recover, either

Kas twisted her legs, smoothly tossing the gasping gunslinger off of her and scrambling back to her feet. Vexx tried raising his blaster. But he froze when Kas placed the round hole of her pistol’s barrel in the center of his forehead. "Still not quick enough, sorry," Kastiel murmured. She only watched impassively as Vexx’ head disintegrated under the force of the bolt singing a path through it. Blood spurted wildly, most of it from the back of his head.  It all left this large and obscene smear against the side of the shuttle Vexx would’ve used to escape the world given the chance.  But there was blood enough on Kastiel’s blaster and hands, too, that she spent some minutes wiping herself clean using the outer layers of Vexx’ bright-colored coat as she searched him for the identification tags the posted bounty required.

Kas gaped when she pulled Vexx's tags loose from where he'd tucked them. The damn things were crusted with pretty gems. "Are you joking? Diamonds, Vexx? Gods, you were a real ass." She pocketed the tags as she began walking towards the doorway to the hangar, shaking her head. It was right then a Houk barreled into the hangar, shouting loudly, "Damn you, you stupid Vexx, you shoulda waited for me! How do you expect me to keep yer hide in one piece when you don't fucking wait for me?!"  He stopped when he caught sight of Kastiel, standing there with her blaster held against her side, glaring at him. He scanned her rapidly, taking in the pale leathered armor covering her torso and her scowling scarred countenance. Then there was the red bloody mess that used to be Vexx.

The Houk harrumphed, "Well, at least I don't have to worry bout chasing after the lout anymore. Yea, yea, no problem, hunter. I'm goin'."  Kastiel only shook her head as she watched the Houk lumber his big, clumsy way back out of the hangar, his hands held up in a pacifistic gesture that she didn't trust at all. Houks were notoriously bad-tempered and prone to violence. A smart person didn't turn their backs on one of them, not as a general rule. So Kas kept her eyes peeled while she was sauntering her way out of the spaceport, heading back towards the Pit.

She fingered the jewel-encrusted tags as she moved along. But it didn’t take long before some of the gang members along the way tried to snatch the things from her, and how’d they know she have them, was a good question.  She only shot at the bastards enough they went scrambling back out of sight.  Like bugs looking for dark places to hide from a bright shine of light.  It was a rather amusing bit of game, she figured. Nothing quite like the song of bitter pain early in the day, Kas thought to herself.  Combine it with Braden's pleasure at being able to move forward in winning Nem’ro’s sorry favor for her place in the Hunt and the day was pretty much shaping into a purely perfect series of hours.  That’s why Kastiel was practically dancing into the Pit and tossing a wave at the regular bouncer by the doors as he snarled at her, "I'll stomp ya, girl! Don't think I won't!"

Kastiel's grin slid away, though, when she ducked through the door into her team's rooms.

She saw Jory first. The nikto was stretched out on the floor, with both arms flung out to his sides. He'd obviously tried to defend Braden, who was lying on the floor behind him. Both men were bloody and burned from blaster fire.  Jory’s eyes were frozen open and silent-looking, his dead gaze facing up towards the ceiling.  But Braden's back was to her.  She didn’t see his face, didn’t see him.  Kastiel just stared at them, agonized and silently aching.  Memories screamed louder in her mind, though, and she dropped her eyes down to the floor.  Trying to keep from hyperventilating, gasping quietly, and whispering, "Ah, Braden. Braden. Ah, no." She always lost them, these people who were important to her – she was never strong enough, quick enough.  Not to keep them safe, at least.  So they were taken away from her.  Damn it.

It never mattered how hard she fought, how much she kicked or hit or bit, how many times she snapped out at them, screamed or cried.  It wasn’t enough, she wasn’t enough.  They were ripped from her, ripped clean from her arms and her knowing.  They went away, and she was left lost and alone, with blood on her face and silence screaming in her broken ears.

She wasn't strong enough.

But she _had_ to be. That was always Braden’s wish - the man who'd guided her through her first hunts, who'd laughed as she rolled her eyes through his jokes and stories, who insisted she let go of her resentment towards men who only ever taunted and mocked her scarred visage.  “ _Come on, Kas!  This great, big bad galaxy’s not ugly enough to beat you down.  You get your ass moving, make yourself known, seen – show them all what a real Hunter is, what we can do_.”  No more, never again and not anymore.  Didn’t matter how much it hurt, how rough the way along became.  Kastiel snarled under her breath, “I'll not let them take anyone else from me, Braden, dammit. Do you hear me? No one!"

And then there was a step from behind her, the briefest bit of motion.  Just Mako strolling into the room, clutching a sack of food that crinkled as she moved along.  And wasn’t that just perfect?  That it took a sorry bag of slop to save a person’s life?  Figures, Kastiel thought.  Mako stopped when she saw Kastiel standing there, her hand clutching the handle of her blaster in the center of the room. "What's wrong with you, huh? Did you …?" She glanced past Kastiel towards the bloodied bodies lying on the floor behind the hunter. "What the hell! Jory? No! … Braden!"  Kastiel stood there, frozen for the long moments Mako sobbed over Braden’s shattered body.  Just a kid, some small girl from a far-off place that Braden took care of and sheepishly bragged over back on Sullust.

Kastiel mumbled, "Sorry, Mako.  Damn ... This is rough, I know."

"Rough?  That’s what you’re calling this?  Fucking rough?  Gods, what the hell do you know!”  Mako keened, rocking back and forth on her heels as she clutched her torso with both her slender arms.  Kastiel looked away, staring hard at the far-off wall as she fought against yelling, screaming.  She refused to tell of those times Braden nodded, pointed and guided her.  Days and weeks back on Dromund Kaas, her old bounty hunter of a friend showing her the way to get the job done.  Just in time, is what he always said to her.  Just … so what?  Wouldn’t help to remember any of it right then.

Kastiel only waited quietly as Mako’s sobs ran their course, finally wound down into brief and pitiful whimpers that Kas could talk over.  "Don’t know what the hells happened here, Mako.  You able to give us any idea, maybe security vids?  Wasn’t there a warning system?"

"Oh, fuck yea.  Yea, I got some stuff set up.  Most of it was terminal feeds designed to get us information off the Holonet, probably how they found us honestly.  Shit, this is like … my own fault!  Oh, gods.”  Mako stumbled against the console, whimpering with regret and raging guilt.  But Kastiel prodded her in the lower back, shaking her head.

“Fuck that, Mako.  I mean it.  Security is no one-man job.  Just tell me who did this.”

Mako’s eyes narrowed hard enough the thin line of implants that arched over her eye bent into a V-shape against her brow.  She nodded emphatically and bent down over the console to work.  And she was good enough a slicer, the captured images flared over the terminal in seconds.  The entire damn show was right there for them to see, together. 

Kastiel examined the faces of Braden's killers. The skazzy bastard who pulled the trigger barely interested her, though.  It was more the pretty-faced ass calling the shots that Kastiel focused on, the Mandalorian so damn fancy he painted his face to match his pretty fucking armor.  The excitement that lined the scad’s face offended her.  So did his flushed complexion, his glittering eyes, his combed and neat hair with fucking glitter edging its strands.  Glitter!  His smug air of self-importance offended her, the way he held his head offended her, the fact he breathed offended her.

Kastiel’s nostrils flared as she watched the entire scene, and remembered all of it.  All of it, every single moment and every word that marked the last moments of her friend’s life.  She pointed at the terminal, promising, "By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be crying so hard all that paint will run off his face in bloody trails."  Mako actually shivered as she watched Kastiel’s face through the promise.  But she knew it wasn’t anxiety tightening her spine so much as excitement.  Mako was alive, vowed she’d stay that way.  Just long enough to see the promise through, at least.


	7. Sorry

Mako felt like a total bitch as she watched Kastiel move towards the door, even as those ugly words she'd tossed at the hunter echoed in the room.  She knew the hunter was moving to leave, to avoid her and the entire blasted debacle.  _Damn it, Mako_ , she mentally berated herself. She shouldn't have said it!  Because even when the words were flying so hard out of her mouth, Mako knew she was wrong.  Kastiel did know pretty darn well what it was to lose someone; she saw the flash of pain the hunter bit back and then hid deep inside.  Shit, the fucking scars on her face should’ve been message enough of that, at least!

Mako really wanted to smack herself. Kas hadn't done anything to deserve the kick in the teeth, mostly. But also because Mako thought it was really stupid, the way the hunter throttled back her scarier feelings, stuffed it all down so deep.  She took the wounding and hid from it, where it could fester.  Just like clockwork, Kastiel clammed all up, just withdrew behind a veritable shell of defensive toughness.  She so needed an outlet for all that aggression.

Poor Hutta, Mako thought.  Whoever ended up on the receiving end of Kastiel’s blaster today was going to have a real bad way of it, at least.  It was almost enough to make Mako shudder to think.  Although then Kastiel might be better off, too, if she just went out there and vented for a while.  Nemr’oh would probably be pretty happy with the results, too.

Mako absently rubbed a small hand over the implants studding her eyebrow, thinking of the cybernetics that marked Kastiel’s face and what story they seemed to tell.  Because Braden was so remarkably close-lipped about it all, except to say she’d had it tougher than most.  Still, Kastiel's implants ran in a downward arch under each one of her eyes and connected to thicker implants embedded in the shells of her ears, marking the trek of damage and the resulting issue that was her deafness.  The things were old, too.  Even if the quality of the work was impressive as hell.  Someone had spent a lot of credits and devoted a lot of care to making sure this particular hunter could hear, that whatever trauma made for her injuries to begin with didn’t ruin her for good.  Pretty different than Mako, actually.  No one really gave a shit about Mako past the implants she was stuck with before she could even remember.

Someone had been sorry for the pain Kastiel endured, someone tried fixing it.  Someone cared for her.

It didn’t change that there were people willing to hurt the hunter, though.  Those scars were put there when she was just a little, tiny button of a kid. On purpose, apparently.  Braden should’ve told Mako more about it, she thought.  But he’d avoided the topic of Kastiel’s origin, like it was a plague of some kind.  He wouldn’t even mention where the hunter was born!  Like it was all secretive and some dangerous bit of information!  He did mention the worry she wouldn’t join the Hunt, because of the attention it would earn her.  Braden just pointed at Mako, " _Sometimes you're just too curious for your own good, girl. Those marks on her face represent a helluva lot of bad memories, is all. Stay out of it_." Mako had actually thought it was because of the risk, that the hunter might be hunted as much as anyone on the list.

But maybe it was so much more.  Braden _liked_ the hunter, helped her.  There was some history between them, something that had him respecting her and believing in her.  Enough he’d marshal her through the Hunt and earn her a place that would keep her safe from whoever or whatever would try hurting her.  The truth was, that Braden believed in Kastiel.

Kastiel was not going to spill all her secrets to Mako anytime soon.  Maybe if she gradually earned her trust, showed her she wasn’t some little bitch who lashed out whenever she was crying.  Kastiel seemed to be the sort of people who opened up to the ones she liked, the way she’d apparently cared about Braden.  And maybe someday she would share even more with someone, a friend or a comrade.  Maybe.  That person would be the one Kas didn’t just kill for, because killing seemed pretty easy for Kastiel.  No, the one Kas gave so much to would be one she’d die for, too.

In the meantime, better for Mako if she avoided banging her head against the wall of Kastiel’s self-defensiveness. 

She looked down at her hands, her little fingers tightening against the edges of the bracer marked with Braden’s colors.  Part of set, obviously.  Because Kastiel marched out the room wearing the thing’s twin.  Braden never gave hunters armor or gear, said it just “unnecessarily aided the competition”.  But he gave a pair of bracers to Kastiel.  He never saw her as someone to compete with, someone he needed to fight against.  And in the end, Kastiel gave one back to him.  She asked Mako to put the bracer into the pyre with him. 

Shit, it was a tattered thing now.  All scuffed and torn, with what looked like an actual claw mark of some kind running along the bottom half of the leathered piece.  Kastiel had obviously worn and used the thing for years.  It seemed appropriate to burn it along with Braden, to show him that much respect.  Giving back the gift, basically.  And Kastiel kept the other one, like a promise she would never forget him.  Deep stuff, actually.  Mako sighed.

Then she turned around to face the bloody room. And she bit her lip hard to keep from crying a single bit more.  There just wasn’t time enough for that much shitty, childish behavior.  She had to focus!  The way Kastiel did, as she marched back out there to get the job done.  So Mako lifted her little chin, and she nodded towards the broken, shattered bodies of her friends, “No worries, guys. I'm going to be there when our hunter wins the Hunt. When she takes that lousy scum Tarro Blood's damn head! I'll be there and I'll throw your names in his prissy-assed face as he dies!  I fucking swear it!"


	8. Lizards make good boots

Kastiel stared silently at the Republic scientist Mako assured her was the target of this damn lizard trying to take her spot in the hunt. She sighed heavily as the woman sputtered and mumbled through a series of pitiful pleading for her life. 

Why did they always do that, she wondered. Seriously. It's not as if she'd continue getting bounties if she let all her targets loose once she caught up to them. Sheer professionalism demanded she complete the job. It wasn't even personal. Just a series of credits, whatever your life had become worth, small and piddling though it was sometimes. And Kastiel was good enough to refrain from saying how little it usually was, too.  Years of back and forth protestations galore, now.  Sometimes it all seemed one single unending blur.

Kas rolled her eyes as the woman's blubbering continued and continued. Gods, she was sick of this planet. Kastiel felt the stink of the world had actually sunk into her very pores. She sniffed delicately. Heh, maybe it had. Wouldn't surprise her at all. She spent most of the days of the past two weeks crawling through mud, muck, slime, and filthy water slick with chemical residue. She even spent some time in the damn sewers underneath the rust yards! Only the karfing Hutts would have full-blown security, complete with guards, down in their blasted sewers! Who got unlucky enough to earn that particular patrol route, anyway?  It was almost enough to warrant giving the poor schmucks a hug, rather than blasting them in their faces as she fought to nab Nem’ro’s erstwhile accountant.

Ah, poor Yalt. The look on his wife's face when she was given her husband’s corpse was pitiable.  Although even then, it was more fear what would happen to her than any real consideration for the man himself.  Her greed compelled her to plan her husband’s defection to Nem’ro’s enemies, earned the man a blatantly cruel death – and all she could do was whine and cry about what would happen to her now.  Kastiel didn’t even hesitate, just leaned over far enough to prod the fool woman, “So was it worth it, do you think?”  The woman wailed even harder then.  Kas only knew, that whatever fine price Yalt got for betraying Nem’ro it wasn’t worth the effort she expended to go in there and find him.  She still had shit on her boots from the damn sewers!  Kastiel could see the dried stuff right there on the lining as she looked down at her feet, even.

That's when Kastiel heard a step coming just behind her.

Mako was trying to get the scientist to quiet.  A wasted effort, apparently: "Geez, lady. Don't you know the meaning of 'stay quiet'? Oh, great." Mako's exclamation was absurd given the circumstances. Honestly, if the girl was going to be making a habit of following her around, Kas would have to teach her how to pay better attention to their surroundings.

In the meantime, she had a lizard to kill and a token to take. Fucking Nem'ro, she thought. Why couldn't _anything_ be easy? Give the slug two damn heads and a pretty show in his little beast playpen, and she still had to hunt down a stupid lizard to get the token that should've been hers. Okay, okay – it was actually one head since the other went to the accountant's wife. But still!

Right then, the trandoshan named Rarsk was gibbering at her in that strange language of theirs. Kastiel cocked her head at the unfamiliar tones of the language. It wasn't one of those she was actually familiar with, so she had to rely on the translator included in her implants. Kas rarely described her incredible aptitude for languages to anyone.

But she picked them up at a frightening rate all the same, enough her teachers when she was still a child implied Imperial Intelligence might find her an interesting candidate. Her mother actually become frantic over the chance, imploring her to hide the skill.  But Lucian was delighted, though.  He had picked her up and held her over his head in the air, laughing up at her. " _Ah, leave off, Tamerie! She’ll serve the Empire well, no matter what shape it takes. She’ll show them all what it means to be truly strong, capable – like I did. Right, my little bird?_ " Kastiel had giggled as she shook her head back at her father, swearing she'd hide how fast she was picking up the words and sounds of the languages all around her. She knew even then her memory was a gift passed along from him, cherished that small sign she was his daughter.

That memory was one of her sweetest ones. She liked it, if only because of its rarity.

But Rarsk’s language was new, unfamiliar.  Its tonal context was strange, and Kastiel studied him with narrowed eyes as she tried to capture some sense of it, how it flowed and worked, how the words were shaped.  She spoke seventeen languages with flawless fluency and understood another six well enough to fumble through some use of them.  Discovering a new conversation, new sounds – it always pleased her.  So Kastiel only stood there as Rarsk chattered and hissed his strange words, silently gauging how the words slithered and echoed through the room.  Although she finally decided the hissing sounds were not necessarily human-capable.  Some languages needed vocal apparatus she would never be able to truly emulate.

Wookies, for one. She'd finally given up trying to sound like a Wookie when she only succeeded in making her wooly teacher laugh himself silly, huge chuffing sounds that amounted to hilarity.  Kastiel though giving the fellow so much entertainment, when his regular life rotated around guarding his masters in some of the finer sections of Kaas City was payment enough, and so did the Wookiee, really.  At least she could understand those hairy beasts. The most unusual language Kas could speak was Chevin. A member of that species who spent much of his time lounging in one of the cantinas in the Lower Reaches had laughingly taught her his language. "To pass the time," he told her. She made it a point to refrain from asking what he was doing on Dromund Kaas. The Chevin were often involved in shady dealings, anyway. Better to not become involved in such business, she'd thought. They were worse than Hutts, anyway.

"Hello, soft things. I see many Fa'thra scientist things are dead. Give me scientist female and you won't join them," Rarsk hissed at her.  Such a fascinating tone, she thought.  But she only stared at him, leaning over to mutter loudly and deliberately towards her companion, rather, "Hey, I've never killed a … what is he again, Mako? I forget."  Mako didn’t remind her she never forgot anything, goodie goodie.

Mako shrugged slowly, "Trandoshan. Rhymes with dead meat."

The lizard rumbled and hissed. "You are stupid. Rarsk will tear out your heart and feed it to a tiny rodent."

"Bah, I'll just keep calling you a lizard, Rarsk. I'll use your hide to make me some new boots. I got shit on these ones when Nem'ro asked me to kill his old accountant. See?" Kastiel lifted up her booted foot. Rarsk glanced down at her foot, far more stupid than he just called Kas, actually. Kas smiled at him even as she kicked out with that same thick-soled boot, catching the trandoshan in a thudding, hard blow against the lower half of his face. Rarsk collapsed onto his back with a hissing groan of pain, blood spurting from his wide mouth; Kas thought he looked like a downed and desperate frog for just a moment.

She continued bantering as she finally stood over him, pulling out her blaster to level towards his face as she explained, "Not that the accountant shit on my boots. I just had to climb through shit to get to him. Doesn’t matter, I just need some new boots. Thanks for obliging me."

The skinny scientist lady shrieked when Kastiel shot her blaster at the trandoshan. The man's green blood splattered liberally against the floor behind his head as the bolt sizzled its way through his skull. Kastiel rolled her eyes as the scientist continued her shrill cries.  Kas sighed over at her, "You know, bothering me with your silly whining isn't helpful at this point. You do have a bounty on your head, woman."

Mako smacked the scientist on the back of her head, "Shut up, dammit, before more of Fa'thra's guards come down here to investigate. Here, take this blaster. It's old, hardly worth anything. But you may need it as you sneak out of here. Now, go!"  At least Mako managed to get rid of the whining refrain, Kastiel thought.  She watched balefully as the small woman scrambled out of the room, clutching that blaster as if it were a shield against any and all bad things that might jump out to bite her. Mako was already rifling through the lizard's pack and pouches, before finally holding up the prized token that showed Nem'ro's mark.

Kastiel finally smiled. It was the first time in over a week that her lips had curved even so much, Mako thought.


	9. Dishonorable Dogs

Smoke from weapons firing billowed up and into the air as the alarms blared some mad peeling cacophony of sound. Torian coughed and ducked his head behind the cover of one of the large metal machines still hissing and spluttering as metal rods spilled from its interior onto the floor, jangling even more noise. Then the machine clanked and jerked so roughly it almost caused him to fail hearing Corridan’s loud yells from nearby.  But he managed to catch the alor’ad calling out to them all, directing them.  Torian snaked his head around to find Corridan, saw him standing in front of several piled crates.  Erstwhile cover, and hastily made Torian judged.  Corridan pointed, "Mandoes!  They’re using stealth – don’t waste your fire until you break them out of it!  Hand to hand! Knives and blunt weapons only! Now!"

Torian grunted, clutched his electrostaff with roughly gloved fingers as he glanced around the ravaged factory through narrowed eyes. His breath sounded harsh against the back of his helmet’s faceplate, felt harsh in his chest, too.  The fires were burning loudly all around them.  There were plenty of dead fighters on the floor, splayed out in ugly, broken piles of human and not some few non-human corpses alike.  Their armor marked them as members of the local resistance the Mandalorian squad was directed to eradicate.  And most of their dead bodies still gleamed and crackled with the electric remnants of busted stealth generators.

But there were plenty of dead civilians, too. Too many, really.  Torian saw one dead woman draped across a nearby conveyor belt, her arm actually stapled to the surface by the machine over top of her. Her eyes stared sightlessly up towards the ceiling. Black eyes, blood spattered face, slim, cheaply draped body. No one of value or importance, just a worker in the factory.  Torian sighed a disgusted sound, the incredible dishonor of fighters who used pitiful civilians as cover against a Mandalorian advance.  Corridan and several warriors stepped out from their cover, legs planted firmly apart as they started shouting over the wild, crazed noise towards the workers nearby to get out, evacuate. The civilians jostled their way past the warriors, who bumped them steadily as they checked the retreating figures for whatever fighters might try getting out among them.  At least the weaker civilians would no longer be in the way, Torian thought.

One old man burbled a panicked sound suddenly, and Torian looked over at him.  The man was almost bald, with a sweat-ridden head covered by sparse spatterings of gray fuzz that amounted to hair.  He was wailing, his wrinkled face practically smashed up against some crates by … something.  Compelled to stay, even if whatever it was holding him there couldn’t be discerned with the naked eye.  Torian grimaced, holding his staff tightly as he leaped through the air towards the man.  The jets on his back fired a steady sound even as his staff flew out and around at the glimmering form holding the old man.

The impact was heavy, thudding loudly when Torian’s staff cracked open the head of the stealthed fighter.  Torian shouted proudly as the blow ricocheted up his arms, “Oya!”  But the old man yelped shrilly, looking up at Torian with wide, terrified eyes.  Torian’s blonde head and pale brown eyes were hidden behind the silent, hard faceplate of his helmet, until he almost seemed some strange, unworldly creature.  Would he stop, or would blood lust propel him even further?  The old man trembled and quaked as Torian silently regarded the blooded remains of the soldier on the floor. Corridan shouted out again and Torian grunted down at the old man, pointed, "Better get out of here. That way."

The old man regarded him with incredulity then. "Wait, you saved me? But … aren’t you … well, I thought Mandalorians liked fighting and killing a wee too much, right? Why would you save us?"

Torian leaned his head sideways, confused, "Why are you wasting time? Get out."

"But … okay, okay. Thank you! Thank you so much!" Torian watched the old man scamper away, shaking his head as he went.

Then he turned back around, looking to his left and right at the Mandalorian warriors lining up all along the way. Each of them held up their blades and staffs. Torian could see one warrior holding up a heavy club of some kind, its end rounded into a heavy metallic ball-shape. Shouts came up and down the line as the Mandalorians began moving forward, as Corridan called out. "Destroy the dishonorable dogs, now! Beat them dead! Move!"  Torian felt the blood surging in his veins as the line pressed forward, the warriors moving methodically towards their enemies. He heard the first screams of the resistance fighters echoing through the space, the wild shots from blaster rifles as they tried fighting and failed. Red blood flew in wild arcs through the air.  Swords flashed and vibroblades sang.

He stepped forward with his brothers. And Eriadu met them.

* * *

 

Torian scowled as the man raised his fist, waving it in front of the twi'lek whore's blue-skinned face. The fellow shouted at her, "You'll do as I say, bitch! Whatever I want, you hear?" But the woman shook her head.

"You didn't pay enough for that!" She looked around wildly, trying to find the woman who procured for her, probably. But she was alone, left to deal with the miscreant dog manhandling her right now.  Torian glanced at his companions, both of them giving the scene the same dirty look he himself was probably sporting. The three warriors had come to the establishment for some well-earned celebration, the victory at the Eriadu factory still sizzling through their blood. Watching a pitiful prostitute be abused was proving disruptive.

"Damn you!" The beefy fellow shook the woman hard, so that her lekku whipped back and forth as she whined bitterly.

"Hey! Stop it! You'll damage my property, you filthy piece of trash!" A human woman, her greying hair pulled back into a heavy bun, lumbered into the fray.  She beat against the man's hands on the twi'lek's arms until he finally released the poor blue-skinned woman. "What the hell are you doing that for?"

The man snorted, leaning close enough his breath moved over the twi’lek’s trembling face.  The woman turned her head, roughly shutting her eyes as she breathed through her mouth.  The man laughed, "I told her I wanted to do her right here, now. And I want her ass. She said no! After I paid her good credits, no less."

"Putting on a show costs more, you dumbass! You plunk down more credits or get the hell out of here!"

"I got more credits. How much will it cost?" Torian heard a small sound of distress come from the twi'lek, who was now cowering behind her human owner, just listening while the pair of them haggled the price of her pain and humiliation. Torian stood up and stalked towards the milling group.  The gray-haired woman glanced at him, surprised.

Torian pointed towards the twi'lek, "I'll pay twice what he's offering."

The woman's pale blue eyes gleamed with avarice.  She knew the warriors were marketable.  Stupid resistance on the planet meant there was loads of work for the Mandalorian units that were marching all around Eriadu right now.  Money’s money, she thought.  And the more the merrier, to boot. "That much’ll get you the woman's company for the whole night."

The abuser started sputtering, before he stopped and shrugged through some nasty smile, "No problem. I don't ship out until the day after. I’m fine with seconds."

Torian glared at him, "How much for two days, then?"

The woman laughed out loud as she gleefully pocketed Torian's credits. “I should keep your drunken, stupid ass of a pirate self around, to encourage more do-gooder idiots.  But here you go, boy,” and she pushed the still-quivering twi'lek towards Torian with a laughing smile.  The ass was stomping his foot and yelling at her every step she took as she sauntered away, leaving Torian to eye his prize and shake his head.  Then the damned _chakaar_ turned back around to glare at Torian again, "You shoulda minded your own damn business, you mando trash!" He stepped forward, his black, beady eyes glaring threateningly at Torian.  But he stopped when Torian’s companions ambled up to stand alongside him.

Jatne didn’t look at him.  He only tossed the hulking human trying so hard to look invisible right then a smirking laugh as he clapped Torian on the shoulder, "Sounds like you'll be busy the next couple of days, Torian."

M'hael fingered the hilt of his blaster as he nodded agreement, glaring at the _chakaar_ until the man backed away.  Slowly, slowly, with both his hands held up defensively.  M’hael grumbled through his thick neck, "Better get her out of here. We'll let Corridan know what happened. And, Torian?" M'hael shot him a serious stare, "Don't forget we leave by the end of next week. We can't be late for the gathering at the Enclave."

Torian nodded, as he reached out to grip the twi'lek's blue hand before guiding her out of the cantina. What the hell was he supposed to do now, he wondered wildly.

* * *

 

"So what exactly are you going to do with me now, huh?"

Torian eyed the twi'lek, trying to figure out if the aliens had some preternatural ability to view a man's thoughts. As he eyed the woman's head tails, he considered it likely. Who knew what sort of magic people with brains shaped like that were capable of, anyway. Regardless, it didn't really surprise him to hear her voice exactly what had been moving through his head through much of the last hour as they travelled down the city streets to find this room.

But the woman only laughed suddenly, "You were wondering the same thing, weren't you?" She looked around the room he'd paid for with a steady, discerning gaze. She moved towards the bed, reached down to prod it with calculation, judging it for softness or comfort, perhaps. He heard her grunt softly, apparently approving. Then she sat down on the edge, looking over at him.  "So, are we going to get on with things, or what?"

He cocked his blonde head, frowning at her. He wasn't certain what "things" she really meant, and this despite the many laughing comments from his fellow warriors over the years. It was times like this he missed his old friend the most. Korwis would have gladly answered the many questions he'd struggled with the past few years. But Korwis was gone, lost in the arena when Torian was thirteen, and he'd long since accepted the man's death.

"Shit, you've never been with a woman, have you?" The twi'lek was astonished. She sat there gaping at him. He scowled at her, clenching his jaw defensively. She held up her blue hands, swearing at him, "Not insulting you, hey! Just surprised, is all. You're … cute. Would've thought plenty of mando women would've taken advantage of you already, okay?"

Torian grunted. "Not hardly. I'm not exactly a prize. And I wouldn't offend a mandalorian woman by offering myself until I was."

She was obviously confused. "You're joking, right? What is it a mando woman would look for that you can't give her?" She ran her eyes up and down his frame with a shrewd, assessing look that made Torian want to squirm.

"Has nothing to do with what I look like. Not sure you'd understand mandalorian honor, either. No offense." Torian shook his head fatalistically. And the woman shrugged, utterly unoffended. Honor was hardly a word she'd be expected by anyone to understand, she thought. So she wasn't bothered by his assumption of her ignorance. "Has more to do with you not being mandalorian. Not that you're forced to sell yourself."

She eyed him, then. The young man was telling her the truth. He truly didn't think less of her for being a whore, she realized. It sent a warm tingling through her belly suddenly, a sense of safety there in that room.  Plenty of people would’ve called the Mando some absurd idiot of a man, paying for an aging whore like her.  But all she knew right then, was that she had a nice, comfortable spot of safe warmth for the next couple of nights.  And the gratitude she felt for having gained just that much of a respite was huge.  She eyed the mandalorian appraisingly.  Few men would have done much to save her from a spot of pain, and even fewer would have bothered soothing her pitiful feelings of self-esteem.  Most would have assumed she lacked any such things, in fact.

This mandalorian was a prize, even if he didn't realize it. How astonishing she could have him. Even if it was only for a little bit of time out of her sorry life. She decide to enjoy him while she could. And that’s when she really smiled at him, "So. There a mando girl out there you're saving yourself for, then?"

Torian shook his head, frowning, "None in particular. I'm past age for marrying. But have things to do first."

"Past age? You're kidding, right? You can't be … what, sixteen years old, right?"

"Eighteen. But mandoes are judged by their deeds, not their years. I was blooded at thirteen, considered adult then. Should've been married a couple of years by now."

"Wow. You guys rush into things, huh?"

Torian shrugged, looking away from her. He wasn't going to stand there and explain why so few mandalorian women looked twice at him once they learned his clan name was Cadera. That would involve the telling of his entire life story, hardly a brief telling. He wasn't lore master that he could speak that well of such things.  The twi’lek shrugged, disregarding his quiet contemplation.

"Bet you have an idea what kind of girl you want, though. Tell me bout _her_."

Torian looked back at the twi'lek, his brows drawn up into a curious line over his eyes. "What? Why?"

"I'd like to know what sort of fantasies move around in that cute head of yours, is all. Gives me a chance to get to know what you like." She smiled knowingly at him. He was still confused.

"I don't understand."

She chuckled, then, "We have time enough at least. Come here, sit down and talk to me." She patted the cushion of the bed next to her, ignoring his frown as he glanced around. Then she smirked as he walked cautiously across the room to settle down next to her, placing his pack and staff against the side of the bed. "Now, tell me. When you picture the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, what does she look like? She's human, right? I'd imagine she is. Humans would probably fantasize about human females."

She watched his face, saw him frown thoughtfully. She almost laughed again. But then his brown eyes went dark with remembering and she smiled instead. Torian looked sideways, obviously thinking, "Yes. She was human. Had dark hair, black like a midnight sky with no moonlight. And big brown eyes. Like candy that melts over your fingers."

The twi'lek sighed. "Maybe you'll win her someday, convince her to be with you."

Torian shook his head, "She died, I think. Fought so hard, never gave up. By the time we went to get her, she was gone. Wasn't _mando'ad_ , or we might have managed to save her, rather than leave it to the Imps."

"Sorry to hear that. But she was beautiful?"

He nodded, remembering the girl who'd watched him that day, her eyes never leaving him as they moved through the streets of Kaas City. Her face had streamed blood the entire way, even as Korwis pressed a cloth along the wounds. He'd later given the scrap of blood-stained cloth to Torian, telling him it represented tremendous bravery and will in the face of impossible odds. " _Fight like that, Torian, and you'll never lose._ "  Torian was fairly sure the twi’lek wouldn’t have thought the little girl child was so beautiful just then, but he mumbled, "Most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Well, then. Let me teach you how to touch and pleasure a girl like that."

He almost fell off the side of the bed where he was perched, but he just looked at the twi'lek. "What?" He frowned at the squeaky sound of his voice, then. The woman laughed softly, not mean or cruel.  Just amused, "I want to show you how you treat someone like that. You know, for the day when you'll have to. I'm assuming eventually you'll do those things that will convince some mando girl you're the prize you really are, huh?"

He nodded, feeling utterly stupid right then.

"So I'm going to show you. Everything I can think of. And maybe a few things I can't think of off the top of my head right now but will over the next two days. Sound like a plan, mando?"

He nodded stupidly again.

"Good." She reached out to run a blue finger smoothly across his lower lip. "Won't hurt my feelings if you imagine I'm that pretty girl in your head, either. Better that way, even. Your hang-ups are nothing on mine, trust me."

He leaned into her finger against the sensitive flesh of his lips, felt his groin twitching into hard awareness. He grunted, "What's your name?"

"I thought we were going to pretend I was someone else?"

He shook his head, "No. Wouldn't do that." He looked away, not able to articulate his desire that his memory of that girl from Kaas City stay precious in his mind, and far from this moment in this room.  Not and keep from hurting the twi'lek's feelings right then.

But the woman used a blue finger to pull his gaze back around to face her again. "Well okay, then. I'll be me. Your teacher for the next couple of days, okay? Just teaching you, is all. And you can call me Tivva, if you'd like."

Torian seemed to reallythink about the entire proposition.  She thought he was exceptionally adorable all of a sudden, and then he admitted to her, "Not sure why you're doing this, is all."

She did laugh, then.  Then she shrugged her pretty blue shoulders, "Because I like you, believe it or not. It isn't often someone lets me choose. And you have. I want to give something back to you."

Torian looked at her, thoughtful. Finally, he nodded, "All right. What do I do first?"

"Oh, you're really really cute." She grinned as she leaned forward, "Let me show you how to kiss a girl."


	10. What makes an Outsider?

Mako was good at watching people.  Surprisingly, mind you.  Considering the implants that marked her so clearly as a slicer girl, at least.  Most slicers only paid attention to their codes and signals in the machines they worked over, only lauded the intricate puzzles of the holonet and the protocols of their computer systems.  But Mako learned fast and young, that there was real value in paying just as much attention to the people around her, as to any machine.  Fail to keep an eye on the clients tapping you on the back while you were working, and a slicer could end up with a knife stuck there instead.  And honestly, people were as fascinating a puzzle to Mako as any program ever proved.  With all their sundry personality quirks and fascinating little mannerisms that covered up interesting stories and experiences alike; it was almost like navigating some smooth and new files -- figuring a person out, getting to know them and what made them tick.  Mako thrived on the game!

And it still took her a good two weeks meandering along behind Kastiel on the parkways and streets of Kaas City, before she realized the Hunter could call the world of Dromund Kaas “home” and without even missing a beat, too!  It wasn’t like Kas said anything about it, for one thing.  Mako supposed the announcement might have been weird enough, that Mako would have been more surprised than not if Kastiel prodded her shoulder as they were leaving the spaceport’s doors and skirted the sneering looks from the Soldiers guarding the entranceway, to say out of the blue, “Oh yea, and I was kinda born here, by the by.”  She lacked the accent all the snooty Soldiers and fine-mannered aristocrats that kept directing them along so proudly displayed – like their damned attention was so much gifts they should be grateful for the having! Although Kastiel did have a particular ease with language; didn’t even rely on the translators to do any work for her before she was nodding and responding to something another strange alien might say to her.  Of course she could manipulate her own accent, too!

But then Kastiel rolled her eyes when fine-assed Sergeant Wallax of the Imperial Navy went ahead and called her a “worthless outsider” and “offworld scum”.  Rolled her eyes like she outright knew the man was a blazing idiot for not catching onto the most blatant simple fact, that Kastiel most certainly was no outsider to Dromund Kaas.  She even sighed towards him, “Wallax, huh?  When did they stop training Imperial soldiers, just enough to have them pay.  Attention.  To detail?”  That’s when Mako startled to the sudden realization Kastiel had come home.  All those times she easily maneuvered along the streets, darted through various doorways and shop places to find the most obscure items, and shrugged off the more strange and bizarre city customs and sounds … all of it just suddenly made sense!  Mako almost felt rather stupid, for having failed to pay enough notice her own self.

Except that Kastiel really did make it a serious point to obscure her own origins.  So maybe Mako was at least halfway smarter than the idiot, Wallax, in front of them.  He didn’t even manage to catch onto Kastiel’s meaning, only narrowed his bulbous eyes at the perceived insult lacing her tone, “You will shut up, offworld scum!  You will only do as you’ve been directed, and hand over your weapons and gear.  Immediately, mind you.”   Mako shot a glance at the man's fellows, then, and she came so close to laughing. One huge guy and one tiny pipsqueak of a character stood just behind the over-belligerent soldier who seemed to think he’d win an argument with Kastiel. Large, medium, and small – and all in a line. Like ordering a drink at one of the food vendors nearby, perhaps. Mako gamely bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud, except there were more soldiers behind the immediate line and she really didn’t want a shooting match in that confined space just then.

Kastiel snorted, "How bout if I just hand over the ammunition instead?"

"Don't get cute, offworld scum!  I can shoot you just as easily as bring you in," Wallax sneered at her, leaving his head down so that his big eyes were level with her own.  That’s why Kastiel could so easily discern them widen with flustered surprise when his commlink suddenly chirped loudly. Everyone in the small alcove of the cantina froze at the trilling sound, and Kastiel grinned widely as the sergeant looked down at the device uncertainly, “Better answer it, Wallax. Your commander is probably wondering what you're up to."

He glared at her, "Shut up!" He clenched his jaw as he yanked the link out, trying to ignore Kastiel’s chuckled lament when Tarro Blood’s image appeared across the top of the handheld.  Wallax’ eyes bugged in glaring distress as Tarro Blood started chanting straight-off about the task he had paid for so handsomely.  Kastiel tsked, shaking her head as she waved towards the pair of soldiers standing behind the sergeant, “Well this is damned awkward for you, Sergeant Wallax.  Bet you didn’t even offer your fine buddies there a cut of the profits."

Tarro Blood began sputtering, "What? She's still alive? What's wrong with you, sergeant?"

Kastiel shrugged. "Considering your own bumbling of the thing, Blood, I wouldn't be pointing any fingers. Truly, mind you.  You can’t manage to even get someone else more capable to do your fighting, you’re reduced down to the most inept.  Basically scraping the bottom of the barrel.  But hey.  Sorry for interrupting.  Carry on, then." The squad of soldiers gaped at her as she settled back onto the balls of her feet and patiently clasped both her arms over her chest, waiting. Mako smiled tightly at them.

"Dammit, Blood. I told you not to call me on this channel!" The sergeant was still fumbling with the commlink. Kastiel sighed very dramatically and leaned her head back to consider the lighting along the top of the ceiling overhead as the two men kept up with their bickering for another few moments.  Wallax finally clicked the link to close it, glaring at his fellow behind him who was muttering right then, "Uh, sergeant. What's going on?" Kastiel thought that guy was perhaps the bravest of the lot.  She even crooked a finger at him in a sorry sort of salute for being big enough to ask the question.

"It's not important. We have a job to do, here."

"If we're going to do this, we want in on it. We deserve a cut!"

"Yea!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes as she gestured towards Mako. The little cyborg loosened her stance, settling her feet apart as she lowered her arms down to dangle along her side and close to her own blaster pistol.  But Kastiel didn’t even try hiding her own prepared motions.  She even fingers the handles of both her blasters tellingly, "You know, it's pretty damn hard to spend credits when you're dead. So I'm going to start counting. And anyone still standing here when I get to three is going to be dead."

"Stand your ground, men! She's nothing! We can take her down!"

"One."

"Uh, sergeant. I don't think …"

"Don't think! Just do it!"

"Two."

"Fuck you, sergeant! I'm leaving."

Mako laughed as several of the soldiers broke and scrambled towards the doors. Kastiel smiled darkly at the sergeant and the two eenie-meenie soldiers left standing there with him. Then she spoke to them, so softly that it sent a thrill of trepidation sizzling down Mako’s spine, too.  She could only imagine what it felt like to the soldiers Kas was threatening, "Three."

Sergeant Wallax yelled out, "You're crazy!"

But Kastiel's first shot was already spinning through the air. The soldier to Wallax's left grunted as the bolts caught him in the face and throat. He fell down with a heavy thud. Mako quickly lifted her weapon to shoot the other fellow square in the jaw, and she yelped out a brief shout as he went down like a lump onto the floor, "I got him, Kas! Whoop!"  Mako spun around to see Kastiel standing in front of the doomed Sergeant Wallax, the muzzle of her blaster held firmly against the front of the man's forehead. He was gulping, staring at her. He mumbled something that Mako wasn't able to discern. But Kas shook her head, leaning in to whisper something to him. He began shaking but he did manage to pull out his commlink.

They all watched as Tarro Blood's image reappeared, "Is it done?" Wallax shook his head, then froze when his forehead bumped up against the barrel of Kastiel's blaster once again. Tarro turned to regard the dark-haired bounty hunter, glaring at Kastiel through that painted pretty face of his.

"I was able to watch you destroy one of mine. Thought I'd return the favor, Blood."

"You won't win the Hunt! I'll see to it."

"Really? _You_ will? All I've seen so far are a bunch of people you pay to do your killing for you. I'm telling you, Blood. I'm so not impressed."

"This, coming from a piece of trash who's face got chewed on by an akk dog back on Hutta. I've already won my place among the Mandalorians! You can't defeat me!"

Kastiel canted her head, thoughtful for a moment. Then she shrugged. "It's your own face you need to be worried about, Blood. I'm going to make it look like Wallax's by the time this Hunt is over. I promise."

Wallax grumbled, "He can't look like me. We're not even related."

Kastiel smiled at the pitiful fool of a soldier, “I mean it, Wallax.  You really are too slow.”  Then Kas loosed a bolt into his head so that the back of his skull came loose with a strange squelching sound. Mako grimaced as blood streamed down the front of Wallax's face, running over his nose into his gaping mouth. The man's body finally slumped dully to the ground, his commlink tumbling over onto the floor right there next to his bloodied face.  So that Tarro Blood was left to look at it in all its appalling glory.  He glared at the grotesque sight with both his fists clenched tightly, listening to Kastiel’s snide-sounding chuckle, "See you as soon as I can, Blood."

Kastiel turned and moved towards the doors, leaving Blood with one final image of her retreating boots. That, and the sight of Wallax's bloody face lying against the hard surface of the floor. Mako pattered along behind her, giggling.  Revenge would be so sweet, she thought.


	11. Daddy's Girl

"My lord, the compound has been compromised by multiple intruders. We can't be certain you are safe.”  The Soldiers were scrambling all around them, moving fast with their weapons arrayed in terrible promises of destruction.  She felt the thrill of the moment for a single long moment.  The ordinary-looking human man in front of her kept braying towards her, “It's possible you could be their target. Or one of them, at least. We're securing Lord Gratham, as well. You should make haste to evacuate."  She waved her hand with negligent disconcertment. 

Vareta Fraabaal could remember the inky darkness that iced the depths of the Tomb of Naga Sadow.  How it seemed almost, to take on a shape and identity all its own and reach out so hungrily for her. She had nearly cried contemplating stepping down to descend into those shadows, to let them surround her, suffocate her.  She was left huddling there on the top step, whimpering pitifully in terrible fear.  She had flinched back then, from the echo of her own terror reverberating back towards where she stayed and tears pressed roughly against the back of her eyelids.  She had tried imploring her own self forward, “Sith are not afraid.  They’re not!”  But she never managed to make that last descent, never moved forward even a step.  No, she only stayed there, huddled in a heap.  Until her own dearest friend came back up those stairs, from out of the darkness so wearily and clutching the relic the overseer told them to retrieve.  Or die in the seizing. 

Moira had smiled at her, at first. She never understood that at Korriban, friendship was nothing but a weakness to be eradicated. Especially when there was a prize on the line.

Moira's blue eyes went so wide with shock when Vereta flung the Force at her in a hard, terrible blow. She was so appalled, so shocked that she hesitated to respond, long enough for Vereta's second blow with her training sword to neatly cave in her pretty skull. Vereta yanked the relic from her still-warm fingers then.  She studied the way the blood pooled against Moira's pale, blonde hair, until it seemed almost as red as Vereta's own locks.  The sight remained vivid in every one of Vereta’s dreams ever since.  Now  Vereta smoothed her coifed red hair back into place, and she glared at the Imperial captain in front of her with a cool, dispassionate gaze. She appeared bored, in fact. It was a very calculated poise. She even practiced the stance in front of her mirror after her master had described to her the value of constant and vigilant showmanship. " _Even lesser subjects should be addressed from a position of strength. Even a whisper of weakness can be exploited_ ," Lord Gratham intoned to her.

Strength was valuable.  Moira might have been strong enough to climb down those stairs and through the darkness that terrified Vareta.  But Vareta ultimately proved herself even more strong, showed it in the ability to betray and catch her opponent off-guard so tellingly.  That strength was the sort she wouldn’t allow her own stupid Force-blind father to hold over her.  Not ever.  He would find she was no Moira to be caught by dismaying shock and her hair soaked with thick blood.  She would win this game of bickering wills between them, let him bask in his illusion of pained fear for her younger siblings.  Let him hire his sorry mercenary, send the bastard after her all he wanted!  He would discover she was the better, the stronger of them both.  Korriban had honed her and Gratham pointed her.  So that she was virtually indestructible now!  No mere bounty hunter would be capable of defeating her!  It was quite nearly laughable even in the thinking!

So Vereta only yawned as she waved the soldier away, "Leave me be, fool. There is nothing for me to fear. Go and secure the doors if you're so concerned." The man gaped at her for only a moment, as if he couldn’t believe she would discount his own prestigious skill.  If that’s what it might be called, mind you.  But he didn’t argue any further, just clapped his jaw closed and saluted her before turning sharply on his heel to march away.  She chuckled towards his back as he went away, leaving her alone to ponder the terminal where the reports describing her father's recent transactions with the Mandalorian Enclave were displayed.

What exactly was this melee event the reports were describing, anyway? Some sort of contest, that Vareta herself was some kind of prize to win, apparently.  She canted her head sideways, thoughtful. The Mandalorians were actually rather fascinating to her, in the way she might consider any sort of predatory and low-born beast on a far-off world that she had never encountered before.  Beautiful enough to stop and look, maybe to play with like a cat might swat a simple rodent.  Because there simply was no way the greatest Mandalorian warrior could actually hurt one of the Sith!  How laughable was that sort of thought, even!

But still. It would be intriguing to see a real, live Mandalorian today. Perhaps he would be wearing one of those pretty helmets that covered their faces so often. Could she manage to convince him to remove it?  To violate whatever rule said they needed to cover their faces, at least.  Rule-breaking was such a fun, interesting game, Vareta thought. How many rules could she break against his form, his body?  Before she was finally done with him and broken him entirely, of course.  The thrill of the thought sang through her veins with a near sexual pulse, left her panting with virtual excitement!  Vareta thought there might even be a spot of dampness between her thighs, and she shifted in her seat to ease the blistering heat of her delightful exhilaration.

That's when the first shots began ringing through the space, and Vereta leaped to her feet.  She spun around to face doorway with eagerness, gripped in her joyous zeal at the impending confrontation. Would he grab her, kiss her? Surely he'd want her. What sort of mercenary wouldn't delight at being able to rouse and please the excitement of a real Sith, after all?  And then the Hunter actually appeared, along with a tiny, olive-skinned girl for a companion, and Vereta's dark red eyebrows shot down into a disappointed frown as sudden anger replaced her stirring excitement.

This? This was the incredible threat her father had tossed at her? Not even a real Mandalorian!  Only some common, ordinary bounty hunter. A rough, ill-mannered course lout of a _female_! Oh, and a filthy little vagabond to follow along with her, no less!  Argh! The woman was somewhat small, a tad shorter than Vareta herself.  But her slender frame was curved attractively in all those ways that men seemed to like more than anything, with perfectly shaped breasts that were rounder and plumper than anything gracing Vareta’s own chest and a muscled pair of buttocks that formed a sweet heart-shape against the tops of her thighs.  Her leathered armor even emphasized her curvaceous figure. Hell, she probably did that on purpose, the slut.

At least her face was dreadful enough. Scars stretched across the right-side of her face, deep and terrible gouges in her skin that were long since healed over. That, and she had implants that reached back to each one of her ears, too. Oh, yes!  The woman’s face screamed of the most dreadful flaws.  Vareta was hugely pleased as she made note of every one of those defects.  She ignored the pretty slant of the hunter's beautiful dark eyes, her thick black hair that gleamed with health and vitality, and, especially, her purely kissable pink lips that puckered very naturally over her softly curved jaw.

That's when she realized the hunter was watching her, too.  She stared at Vereta with a shrewd look.  Seemingly weighing her, almost like she was trying to judge her somehow. It was actually rather disconcerting, in fact. Vareta almost asked the hunter what she was trying to determine with that gauging gaze of hers. Especially when the woman finally shrugged as if Vereta had somehow come up short in her estimation. What failing did this … person seem to find in her? She was Sith! She was so much greater!  How dare such a lowlife reprobate insult her like that?  Vareta couldn’t help but demand her, "You seem to actually believe you're better than me, somehow? Why is that?" She eyed the woman's blasters disdainfully, ignoring the blood splattered along the woman's leg plate armor in some long arc still wet enough it was sliding in dripping trails down across her knee as she stood there. It seemed that damned lowly soldier had paid the price for not securing the doors as she directed him to, she thought snidely.

"Maybe I really _am_ better than you," the hunter said then. She even rolled her eyes! As if emphasizing her belief there was no real "maybe" about it. Vereta snarled at her.

"How dare you!"

"Pretty damn easily, trust me."

"I am Sith!"

"I’m not," the hunter pursed her lips as she shrugged nonchalantly. "Still gonna kill you."

Vereta laughed aloud, then.  She leaned her head back as her peals of laughter winged through the air, "Do you seriously believe you're capable of such a feat?"

"What, you think you're invincible?"

"Oh, no. I might be killed by another Sith. Maybe a really powerful bomb. But not some common … bounty hunter," Vereta waved a pointed finger in the woman hunter's face, shaking her head firmly.

The hunter shook her head, almost appearing sad for a brief moment. It caught Vereta by surprise, honestly. The hunter murmured, "Someone's been filling your head with garbage, Sith girl.  I hope you’re not _all_ so stupid."  For just a moment, Vareta thought there might be some particular Sith the hunter was thinking about.  But the insult to her own master sparkled over her anger again.

Vereta glared at her. Lord Gratham had demonstrated time and again how strongly he respected Vareta’s abilities, her tenacity, and her skills. He even described his hopes and desires that it be Vereta who found and destroyed the interloper who caught and destroyed his son months earlier, the one who fled Dromund Kaas in terrible fear of her master's retribution. His tirade against that assassin had been gods-awful, a long-winded diatribe that included several comments how the youth might have made Vereta herself a fine husband, if only he hadn't been killed.  Such a marriage might have proved a real plum, a gem to tuck into her cap.  But the chance was lost now, damn the killer to the Void itself!  She would certainly not tolerate such a low slight from this vulgar upstart of a creature! Not today, not ever!

Vareta stomped her foot, "Well.  You'll learn different. Not that you will take much from the lesson, being dead. I would say I'm sorry. But why lie?" Vereta activated her lightsaber, then, the sound of the blade sending a thrill through to her belly and groin, tightening her flesh into adrenalin-heightened readiness. This was the part she enjoyed most, she thought.

Well, maybe not the most. She really would have liked to be swept off her feet by the desires of some manly Mandalorian. But this would have to do, she supposed.

Vereta sent a whirlwind of the Force against the hunter's companion, leaving the girl to spin madly against the dynamic power that compelled her small form in hard circles. Even if the cyborg somehow managed to break free of the attack, she would be too dazed to do much harm to Vereta herself, she judged. That left the hunter to deal with. But when Vereta turned to face her, the hunter was … gone.

Vereta growled as she scanned the room, looking around wildly as she tried to find the woman. That's when the first shot caught Vereta across the shoulder, spinning her around in enough time to see the hunter jumping down from the rafter where she was perched after she rocketed up above the space to look down at Vareta. The sizzling pain of the hunter’s shot hindered her in responding, long enough for the hunter to smoothly interject herself between Vereta and her small companion, blocking any chance that Vereta might have had to further threaten the girl. That's when the hunter's second blaster fired -- so fast on the heels of her first, actually -- catching Vereta's hand where she still clasped her lightsaber and sending blood scattering into the air even as her saber fell with a loud clatter against the floor. Vareta screamed piercingly in terrible pain, her vision wavering from the sheer shock. 

Like the shadows were reaching for her all over again.

Vereta fell down to a knee, clutching her arm close to her chest as she whimpered from the miserable discomfort of her wounds. It seemed her entire left side was on fire, burning with searing agony. Vereta glanced down to see several large droplets of blood plopping dully onto the floor at her feet. But then the hunter’s boots appeared in her line of vision and she shot her gaze back up to look at the dark-haired woman, her eyes wide with shocked dismay as she mumbled, "I lost? How …? It's simply not possible!" It all happened so fast, she thought.  She was so confused, so stunned.

The hunter shook her dark head at Vereta, as she raised her blaster and placed it against Vereta's forehead. The Sith whimpered, watching the hunter's eyes, seeing the darkness there, the claws of it reaching out to her.  The Tomb was dragging her down, until she could almost hear the sounds of Naga Sadow himself laughing at her along the dark pathways of the Force.  It was death, and it _wanted_ her.  She felt tears trickling down over her cheeks.

Then the hunter whispered, "Shhh. I'll make this quick. It won't even hurt."

"I just can't believe it …"  Would her hair be soaked with blood?  But it's already red!

And then the darkness claimed her at last.

* * *

 

Mako's head was still spinning, like she was still trapped in that maelstrom the stupid Sith forced her into enduring. She grimaced as she shook her head yet again, trying to shake free of the dizziness that continued to bother her every so often. She looked over at Kastiel, about to say something giddy and thankful, something like "woopty hells, thanks" or "damn, girl, you're awesome" or "you saved my pitiful life, yay".

But Kastiel was standing against the framework of the swampy landscape, refusing to lean against any of the trees despite how weary she looked standing there.  She actually warned Mako earlier about the seeming insects that infested so much of the plant life on Dromund Kaas, enough, she said, that bug-like things could end up covering your body in mere moments after touching something green or tree-like. Basically, don’t touch anything, was the gist Mako took from that small conversation.  Left Mako shuddering, as she thought, “Yuck”

At the moment, though, Kastiel just looked sad. Mako sort of doubted any expression of gratefulness would work to wash Kas' face clean of that dejected countenance. So she ambled over to stand next to her, silent for a time. She scanned the marsh, watching how the gloom shifted and pulled against the shadows of the dull, blunt light of the planet. Shapes moved through the dark every so often, and Mako squinted, trying to make them out but failing.  Kastiel grunted an amused sound, waving sadly, "Most of the life on the planet is Sith-spawned. Twisted obscenities. Good for pitting your skills against, is all." Kastiel spoke quietly, working to avoid getting attention from any of the forms moving through the swamp nearby.

Mako glanced at her sideways.  Trying to keep an eye on the moving shadows nearby, "Take it you've fought them."

"Time or two, yea.  I came out here sometimes, for practice," Kastiel looked over at Mako, her eyes hooded, quiet. "You know I met Braden in Kaas City, right?  He took a bolt to the stomach and almost stumbled into me looking for help." Mako shook her head, her dark eyes widening. But Kastiel looked away again, shrugging, "Guess I should have known that old man would keep his word about where I came from. He was a good friend. I miss him."

"Yea, me too," Mako's sigh was loud.

Kastiel was quiet for a moment, pondering. "Sometimes I wonder. I mean. About the Sith. Are they all like that girl just now was? What made her like that? What does it take, to turn a girl who's father obviously loved her into a pitiful wreck good only for destruction?"

Mako felt her forehead scrunching into a thoughtful frown, "Maybe she was always that way."

"No, I don't think so. I think she was a cute little girl once upon a time. I bet that admiral played games with her, twirled her in the air, gave her sweet pet names."

_Who gave_ you _sweet pet names_ , Mako wondered suddenly. But she didn't voice the thought. "Well, then. Maybe she just didn't learn from the right teachers."

"Exactly, Mako! What if all the Sith are taught to be like that? What if Korriban takes them and warps them …?" But Kastiel finally wound down into morose silence, stubbing her toed boot through the mud under her foot slowly.

Mako watched her shake her head sadly. Then Mako reached out a small hand, placed it on the hunter's armored shoulder, "I bet that every so often there's a Sith who manages to overcome all the bullshit to be a truly remarkable person. And we'll just avoid the ones who can't."

Kastiel chuckled meanly, "Simple rules are often the best ones, huh? Whatever. Let's get moving. Have to let daddy know his girl's gone."


	12. To Save Someone I Love

The doctor smoothed a finger across the implant over Mako's left eye, grunting softly, "Excellent work. Delicate, fragile … it's almost like a piece of art." He leaned closer, his gaze focused on the metal edgework of Mako’s implant. "Droid-manufactured, of course. Although the actual implementation of the device required intricate and incredible effort. I would love to discuss this work with the doctor who made it."

Mako harrumphed.  She resisted reaching up to touch the implants lining her eyes personally, and explained, "Finding out who did this is why I came to you, actually. Kas said you knew more about implants than just about any medical professional on Dromund Kaas."

"That would be about right. Spent years practicing on her, in fact," he winked at Mako slowly.  Not flirting, either.  It came off as a fatherly gesture, more than anything.

"Oh … huh? _You're_ the doctor who worked her implants?"  This guy seemed more Imperial than the vast majority of Imperials she’d watched rushing about Kaas City like a bevy of hard-working ants in a hill.  That was saying a lot, mind you.  Mako had actually considered looking for the fellow’s uniforms after she pushed her way through the doors of the clinic and introduced herself.  Now he shrugged and wagged his finger in Mako’s face, “Better to not say much about Kastiel outside of here. Do you understand me?"

Mako nodded solemnly. She watched as this … Tobies Moor fellow moved over to a nearby terminal and began pressing various buttons on the console. He let out a hum of noise every so often. Mako tapped her fingers against the surface of the table where she was reclining, "So. You sound like an Imperial. Like one of those guys who wear the uniforms and yell at us every time Kas opens her mouth to say something to them." She heard him chuckle, although he didn’t look up from the terminal where he was working.

"Yes, well, that's what comes of hiding her own Imperial origins out of sight, hmm?" He looked over, eyeing Mako shrewdly.  Then he winked at her again. 

"Are you her father, or what?"

The doctor frowned suddenly, his face washing with pain so briefly Mako almost missed it.  Except that his eyes mirrored some old grief, like a long-ago memory of grieving maybe.  She actually squirmed uneasily against the table as she realized the truth, that he wasn’t Kastiel’s father really.  But he did know the man, and liked him.  Now Tobies More shook his head slowly, "No. I'm not Kastiel's father. Although I wouldn’t mind claiming her my own, either.  She’s that remarkable.”  He seemed to shake himself, pointing at Mako imperiously, “You can call me Tobie. And I sound Imperial, because I was Imperial. A doctor in the Navy for some years." He shrugged then, "I like it better down here."

Mako laughed lightly. This area of Kaas City was populated largely by the Empire's workers and slaves, most of whom ducked and weaved as they meandered the rain-saturated streets outside like they were trying to avoid garnering _anyone's_ attention. There wasn’t much about the place to call it a slum; the Empire seemed to eschew the build-up of trash or garbage, anyway.  Mako thought she’d never seen a cleaner, tidier slum in all her days of living!  But this was where the dregs of Imperial society found their small niches of space and called them home, all the same.  Said a lot about the Empire’s Navy that one of its doctors appreciated this place better, she thought. "Was Kas' father an Imperial, too?"

Tobie pursed his lips only slightly, enough Mako could see the question bothered him. But he just shook his head, answering her obliquely, "Kas' father died a long time ago." She watched as he returned his attention to the computer terminal.

Mako glanced around at the clinic. The place was actually appealing once you were inside. The outside of the building was just as dark and morose looking as the rest of the structures in Kaas City, anyway. Mako supposed there was some sort of rule about that, that somehow all the city had to take on the appearance of black animosity, as if the city was entirely composed of controlled figures acting as one, like a terrible machine designed for destruction. It was incredibly depressing, she thought.  But the clinic offered this meager light on the wall outside its entrance. She supposed that was the only beacon that identified the place for what it was. She had jostled her way through the group milling at the door when she entered the place and asked one of the droids there, for Tobies Moor. He'd ducked his head outside a nearby examining room, then, and directed her into the space.

Tobies Moor was human, of course. He had a good, healthy build, solid without being bulky at least. Mako guessed he was in his fifties, as she regarded the greying hair at his temples and the wrinkles around his eyes. Otherwise, his hair was a sandy-brown color and his eyes were blue.  He looked rather ordinary, really.  There just wasn’t much about him that jumped out at a person, to get you to pay him mind or attention.  Mako wasn’t surprised he didn’t describe a wife or mate of any sort. 

Actually, now that she studied him, he looked nothing at all like Kastiel.  So that her initial wondering on the subject came off even more absurd.  Kastiel’s features were far more striking, beautiful – even with the implants and the scars both – although Mako had long since realized Kas herself didn't recognize her own attractiveness. She had a natural appeal, one that came from her smooth motion and all those sweet curves, the darkness of her eyes that soothed, and the implicit temptation of her pouty mouth. But she never seemed to notice the male attention she garnered, not unless it was accompanied by some sort of caustic remark regarding the marks on her face.

"How did you meet Kastiel, Mako?"

Tobie's question broke Mako free of her meandering thoughts in regards her growing friendship with the hunter. She looked over at the doctor, who still had not looked up from his work at the console even when he asked her.  She didn’t doubt his focused attention on her response, though. Mako crossed her arms across her small chest, her eyes growing sad, "Braden introduced us. He was excited to introduce Kastiel into the Great Hunt."

Tobie shot her an amused glance, "Kas has spent years eyeing the Mandalorians. She'd watch them come and go from the Enclave, listen to their conversations. She once came home with a vicious wound she received from a small vine cat she tangled with outside the city, after she'd followed a group of Mando hunters too far into the marsh." He chuckled, "So how's Braden doing?"

Mako sighed, turning her gaze down towards the floor as she muttered, "He was murdered."

Tobie rasped a startled sound, "What?"

"Some bastard called Tarro Blood had him shot. I was afraid Kas would leave me there on Hutta, then. But she didn't."

"She wouldn't have," Tobie said, thoughtful. He hesitated, seemingly trying to appreciate her grief.  But he didn’t address it, either.  He only gestured towards her implant, "I'd like to take a closer look at that. I'll sedate you while I examine it. Would that be acceptable?"

Mako nodded as she lay back against the cushioned surface of the medical table, listened to the wispy sound of the injector against her arm. She watched the ceiling over her head as she slowly drifted into a murky grayness, barely aware. Eventually she heard voices nearby, although she was incoherent enough she couldn't remember who the voices belonged to. She only continued to drift, mindlessly wondering.

A man spoke. Was he talking to her? "I'm sorry about the bounty hunter."

It was a female who responded, "I wasn't able to save him. They snuck in while I was gone."

"Dammit, Kastiel. You can't possibly blame yourself."

"If you say so."

"If you’d been there, you’d likely be as dead as the bounty hunter.  I mean it, Kas!  There comes a point, where you have to respect you can’t save everyone around you – not your mother or father, not any one of your brothers or sisters.  Hells!  What happened to Khyriel wasn’t anything of your doing, either!  You were only fifteen years-old!"

"Tobie, please."

"You have to know this misplaced guilt is only going to drag you down, weaken you. You have to let it go!"

"Maybe when I finally manage to save someone important, huh? Because so far, the people I care about? I lose them! What happens when the damned Hejarans finally realize I never died the day my parents did, do you think?" The female loosed a tired, sniffling sigh, "They'll come looking for you, won't they? Then I'd lose you, too! Another one – gone! Hell, Tobie! I almost didn't tell Mako about you, even when she asked for help to discover her implant's origins."

"Dammit, girl. Even if I died tomorrow, it wouldn't be you to blame for it, don't you see?"

"Yea, right. Even though they'd kill you because of me."

"Kas …"

"No. Enough. Just … take care of Mako. Okay?"

The man – Tobie, the doctor was called Tobie – he sighed, then. "Upstairs, Kas. Try to get some rest while I finish, here. And for goodness sake, take a bath. I think that's shit on your boots."

And Mako drifted back into the grayness.


	13. Out of the Temple

Kastiel was deaf.

She had spent almost six months of her sixth year trapped in some properly awful silence that came after those little lights on the grenade changed from red to green. And the silence really was the better part of that year, too.  Better than the debilitating pain, the aching, ripping pain as her ears healed, and her face was put back together.

But the silence also earned her the ability to gauge the facial movements of those beings around her with unerring skill even after all this time, to find the meaning behind their communication no matter what form it took. 

Because so much was conveyed by a person from the movement of their faces, their bodies, their arms and hands – Kastiel was amused whenever someone said it was so simple as “reading lips”.  Kas could actually discern a lie from a mere twitch of a person's mouth, see a man’s intentions in the subtle shift of his eyes or even the flaring of his nostrils, and even catch the smallest hesitation in the coward’s forward momentum, all by watching their bodies moving.

No.  Silence didn’t hamper Kastiel, it didn’t hold her back from any single motion.  It certainly didn’t frighten her.  She actually found a sense of safety and comfort in the silence, retreating behind her eyes when she simply didn’t want to face more painful realities.  Breaking the silence actually _hurt_ her, screaming ravages of pain and trauma that haunted her dreams for years, years, and darkest days.

It’s why Kastiel never lauded her implants, not when the implants blasted apart the silence she navigated, moved through -- with such a cacophony of sound that left her literally reeling, crying terrible tears of pain as she ripped and scratched at her ears until they were bleeding. She begged Tobie for the noise to stop, to keep her head from aching, her ears from burning. Because every little sound within a significantly unnatural distance screamed through her attention. 

Normal human beings weren’t designed to hear the way Kastiel did – as if the sounds had a real presence and a sheer form all their own.

Tobie was frantic as he tried teaching Kastiel how to focus her new hearing ability, to shut out the sounds she didn't need and concentrate on those she did. It was a grueling process, for the both of them. So many nights when Tobie would finally just pull Kastiel into his arms, rocking her against him as she cried.  He would hold his hands over her ear implants and hum gently, until she finally hiccupped her way into sleep, so utterly worn down from the effort she was expending just to _stop_ hearing. And he still made it a point to provide her meds and stims for the migraines – the pain and the fear and the trauma that continued to chase her, through every night and every time she closed her eyes to sleep.

Chase her, like the darkness chased the Force-users who endured the shadows of the Dark Temple, out here beyond the limits of Kaas City.  Like it was something alive, all on its own.  And perhaps it _was_.

Facing the façade of the Temple, Kastiel thought she could hear, the way that the Sith and the Jedi listened to their Force.  Like they felt it against their skin and through their pores, like it breathed and pulsed in their lungs, thrummed under their running feet – like it moved in them and through them.  _That_ was the sound in Kastiel’s ears, that she couldn’t hide from so easily or simply.

Not magic.  Only another sense, a tool to be manipulated.

Kastiel had never felt any real bother that her own sense of the Force was so limited, and never mind the drive of those around her to be Sith, to move out from the dregs of obscurity or poverty to become someone of value and importance, the rulers of this world.

Perhaps it was born from her struggles to recapture her lost hearing. But Kastiel thought it was her sister, even more.  That Lusiel was carried to Korriban, where she fought for her life every day, navigated tired, dark spaces, through hallways where every teaching, every lesson was a challenge and a test.  And all of it designed to break you into pieces, most likely.  Until only the sheerest managed to even survive.

Kastiel wanted to shield her sister, hated that Lusiel was so much alone in such a world and place.  That her enemies could destroy her utterly, and Kastiel would never be able to stop them.  It _bothered_ her.

It didn’t matter in the end, though.

Kastiel only respected the Force for what it was -- the driving energy of her world and galaxy, that surrounded everything. She knew it was real enough, even if she couldn't tap into it herself. Not as a Sith did, at least. But her _awareness_ of the Force was true and strong. Enough she nearly gagged on the feeling of dark, terrible threat that permeated the Temple as they stepped inside.

Mako suddenly pressed in close against her, actually whimpered, "Kas? My implant is buzzing, like some kind of interference. It fucking hurts! You … hey, promise me you won't leave me here, okay?"

Kastiel turned to the young woman, held her shoulder in a gloved hand and squeezed gently, "This place is ugly as any abyss. I wouldn't leave an akk dog here, Mako. I certainly won't leave you! Let's just find these soldiers someone was dumb enough to send in here.  And quick." She glanced around at the shadowed alcoves. "Chances are they're long since dead."

But they weren't. The men were lost, rather, to the dark energies of the place. They stumbled through the corridors of the Temple, ranting against the pain in their skulls, even falling down to their knees and crying out in agony. Some of them, catching sight of her, begged for release from the pain and sobbed gratefully as she lifted her blasters to give it to them. Most of them, though, were so maddened they no longer remembered who they were, even. Those were the soldiers who came at her in wild attacks; determined to destroy her, forcing her to fight incredibly for her own life, and for Mako’s too.

It was horrifying, every step through that place. When Kastiel finally rose up with the identification tag from the very last of the soldiers gripped in her own gloved hand, she caught sight of Mako leaning over against the nearby wall and vomiting smoothly against the floor. She grimaced, gulping back her own nausea. She reached out towards Mako, watched as her friend gripped her fingers fervently.

Kastiel had never prayed for the silence more, than she did in that Dark Temple.  That place was so loud and distinct in fear and pain, that she wanted to pull and yank against her implants for the most simple peace.  But all she did was grab Mako.

They held onto each other as they tumbled out from the Temple, gulping gladly the heavy, muggy air of the outside. But they didn’t let go of each other, just held on as they nearly ran away from that place.

And they didn't look back.

* * *

 

The identification tags gleamed as they fell out of the bag Kastiel had gathered them in, clattering there on the surface of Captain Medle's desk. The officer reached down, picking up one of the tags to examine it closely. He grimaced, "You got them all, incredibly. Here's Commander Gargun's ID, even.  I didn’t really think it a possible feat, mind you." The man looked up at Kastiel, then.  His face was twisted and shaped by some sort of burn injury in years past, pock-marked and misshaped.  Kastiel didn’t remark on the scars when she had met him, respected that he didn’t remark on her own.  They understood each other that much. 

Now he pursed his lips as he studied her carefully, "So what was it like, there in the Temple? I've yet to hear anything about that place that didn't sound like pure raving."

Kastiel shrugged slowly.  Her gut was talking to her again, and the message wasn’t good.  At least she didn’t feel like puking anymore.  This was more a worrisome message; her own instincts telling her to be wary.  But she didn't betray herself, just told him simply, "Not going to hear much different from me, then.  Everyone in there is out of his fucking mind.  But they're dangerously organized.  Whatever’s keeping them in line, I don’t want to know about.  Shit like that?  Steer clear of it."

"Huh. Still would've liked to go in there myself. Would've saved me some unpleasantness." Kastiel watched as the captain dropped his eyes suddenly, seemingly shamed. She felt her stomach tighten even further, glanced over at Mako. Medle slowly licked his lips, as if his mouth was going dry.  Like he was getting ready to deliver really bad news.  Hells, maybe _he_ would puke, she thought.  He murmured tiredly, "Listen to me. Unpleasantness. I'm even starting to talk like them."

Medle walked out from behind his desk, subtly nodding towards the two armed men standing along the wall nearby. Kastiel barely motioned towards Mako, merely shifting a single finger.  But Mako understood, stepped closer to Kas and loosened her stance carefully.  Medle was uncomfortable enough he didn’t even notice.  Stupid.  You should never look away from a target, Kastiel thought.

Medle looked over Kastiel’s shoulder, even.  He didn’t want to look at her, apparently.  And his voice dropped down to a slow mutter, "Look, hunter. I may not like being an officer in Intelligence. Never wanted the job, mind you. But it is what it is, see. And the Sith made it clear they didn't want anyone going into that Temple, learning their secrets."

Kastiel scowled at him, "You're making me unhappy, captain. You don't want to. Trust me."

"Yea, you're right. I don't want to. In a better world, I wouldn't have to kill someone just for doing their job. And doing it well, to boot. But this isn't a better world. I'm sorry, I really am." He started to turn, to say something to his men.

But Kastiel was already moving.

She rocketed towards the two men still leaning stupidly against the wall, just waiting for guidance from the captain. Unprepared and stupid!  The men coughed as the gas residue from her jetpack filled the small office. One time. Then they blinked, feeling the press of Kastiel's blasters, one under the chin of each man.  They froze, held there in Kas' firm grip as she sneered darkly at them.

Behind her, Medle yelped as Mako loosed a single bolt from her pistol at him, caught him squarely in the thigh so that he tumbled down to the floor.  He clutched his leg as blood pumped thickly from the new hole Mako put in it.

Kastiel maneuvered her two hostages backwards, jabbing her pistols against their chins just solidly enough they could follow her directions.  She moved them so that all three men were gathered together in the center of the room, facing two very angry young women. Captain Medle sighed, holding his hand over his bleeding wound while blood continued to leak through his fingers. Mako gathered the men's weapons, tossing them into a corner and muttering words like "backstabbing" and "sons of bitches" every so often. The captain's erstwhile assassins looked down at the floor, red-faced and embarrassed.

Medle stared at the bounty hunter, looked at her eyes, watched her. He thought suddenly he'd never seen a more beautiful creature in his life, this woman who was surely going to kill him now. And he was grateful it would happen at the hands of someone so damn capable. This one, he thought, wouldn't bungle the job. She'd do it right. It would be quick, relatively painless. Not a bad way to go. And that's what he told her then.

"I'm not going to beg. Turning on someone for doing their job is wrong and we both know it. Here's your writ, that tells the Mandalorians you did your job for us. And your pay. Because you did it well, too. The rest is up to you," and he lowered his head, waiting.

Kastiel snorted, so that Medle looked back up at her. She tucked her blaster against his dark-skinned nose and thumped it firmly, "Bribe me, captain. And you'd better make it good."

Medle heard a sound of some surprise coming from the hunter's small-framed companion. But he scrambled to think, listening to the whimpers coming from his men on either side of him. "Now that … Yes. I can do that." He gestured towards a datapad set in the center of his desk, "That's a list of experimental equipment. You can … have something off it, if you want."

Kastiel shook her head, "No. You're going to owe me a favor, rather. Mako, here, is going to contact you with a series of questions regarding some information she's looking for. And you are going to help her get it. Understood?" The captain nodded. She pressed her blaster tighter against his nose, "Don't screw this up, captain. I will make your life an even greater living hell if you fuck with me.  I’ve killed far bigger men than you."

"I understand. Don't worry, it will be done." He scowled as he watched the hunter backing towards the door, saw the one called Mako open the door so that the hunter could duck outside of the room, pulling Mako along with her. Then he snarled at the two men next to him, "Son of a bitch. I actually survived. I hate you both!"

* * *

 

Khyriel Phyre glanced up and over his pretty watcher’s shoulder, just in time to see a bounty hunter of all things, stalking out from a corridor that lead back to several offices. The woman was obviously angry, until she almost quivered with it. Her dark eyes were glittering like agate stones in her face as she muttered something to the small woman following her. That, and she was replacing a pair of blasters against her belt.

There was no blood splattered on her armored frame, though.  No cuts or bruising anywhere on her exposed skin, no sign of damage done to her gear or her weapons.  Or at least no _new_ damage, since what he could make out of her armor showed signs of wearing along the edging and down across the pocked surface that covered her torso.  She didn’t look to be a female that cowered behind a shield in the face of a threat, at least.  Only real battles made such marks on a warrior’s figure.

Khyriel scanned down the corridor where she'd come from, wondering who was lying beaten and broken back there, and a hard, terrible smile curved his lips as he considered what sorry-assed agent might try explaining how he ...or she, maybe -- how they'd come up short against a mere bounty hunter. He even thought of venturing down there to investigate whatever incident made for the tempestuous expression on the bounty hunter's face.  But then he would have to cut short his flirtations with the watcher, and Khy glanced back down to see Watcher 2’s large, dark eyes narrowed and curious at him. 

He really wanted to get the curvy female into his bed before the mission here on Dromund Kaas unnecessarily occupied him, so he turned his most attractive smile down towards her. A sweetly seductive assurance, more than anything.

Khyriel didn’t really turn his entire attention from the hunter, though.  So he easily noted her expression when she suddenly looked up and saw him.  He frowned as she stopped there, in the corridor.  Just stopped, for a single, long moment.  Emotions flitted across her scarred face, her lips slightly parted with surprise.  She looked … shelled, shocked.  And sad, as her eyes quickly scanned him from the top of his dark head all the way down to his booted feet, the entire length of his uniformed frame.

Khyriel scowled.  Because he didn’t recognize her, even if _she_ knew _him_ well enough.  He could see it, see his own name hovering against the tip of her tongue.  Like it was only fighting to be free, as if she would call out to him if she only could.  And _who are you_ , was all that Khyriel could think as he frowningly took a single step forward.

His motion startled the hunter, though.  She tossed her head, as if shaking herself loose from some preoccupation.  Then she turned like a whip to grab her small companion’s arm, rough enough the smaller female yelped a pained sound, “Hey!  What the hells …?”  The hunter only ignored the woman’s complaining cries as she took off striding towards the main entrance, practically dragging her companion along behind her and never mind the little woman’s complaining the entire while. 

Khyriel watched them go, frowning towards their backsides.  He glanced down at Watcher 2 then, smiling tightly, “I think it would prove valuable to know more of that particular bounty hunter.”

"Oh?  Why would you think so?  Hunters are only expendable commodities, Cipher.  Words like value are rarely applied to them." Watcher 2 was looking at him like he was a strange commodity all his own, rather.  Khyriel wondered what value she could ascribe to him, at least.  He even considered outlining his own particular uses, later and in more private circumstances.

"Rarity is its own value, however.  Something tells me that hunter will prove it before she’s done. And to me, no less."


	14. The Melee

Corridan Ordo laughed in sheer unadulterated delight as he yanked his helmet off, so that the moisture clinging to the back of his head highlighted the dark edges of his hair. He reached out to clasp the arm of the warrior he'd been sparring with, shouting out, " _Jate akaanir_!"

Vorten Fett yanked his own armored helmet loose from his bald head, shaking his head hard enough droplets of sweat went flying. He grinned back at Corridan, reaching out to grasp his arm, "It _was_ a good fight, Corridan! And fun, too." Fett smiled as the two captains were suddenly thronged by their respective warriors. Yells and shouts of advice rang out, echoed down at them from the yawning ceiling overhead, as the two groups began arguing the various techniques their respective _alor'ads_ used during the match.

The din of noise they made as they playfully pushed and gestured amongst each other added to the overall pandemonium filling the Enclave. Fighters and warriors from throughout the multitude of clans filled the space, everyone there eager to witness the start of the Great Hunt. Corridan waved towards Torian, gesturing him close.

"Vorten, this is Torian Cadera. One of my finest fighters. And my friend," Corridan slapped his fist against Torian's shoulder, hard enough Torian stumbled.

Torian rolled his eyes as he shoved back at Corridan, "Not going to impress anyone with my balance when you do that, _ner vod_." But Corridan just laughed, tossing an arm across Torian's shoulders before he smiled over at Vorten again.

Vorten nodded. He focused his cybernetic gaze on the blonde-haired Mando, blatantly sizing him up through the metallic implants covering his eye.  He grunted out, "Cadera. Jicoln's son?"

Torian's jaw clenched. His shoulders grew tense under Corridan's arm. But he didn't turn away. Nor did he drop his head in any sort of shame. "I'm Aily Cadera's son. I never even knew my father."

Vorten Fett grunted again. "Jicoln should have considered _that_ consequence when he chose to act with dishonor. You'd have been a son worthy of pride to any man, I can see." High praise, actually.  Torian felt a ball of warmth curl in his belly.  Vorten eyed Corridan balefully then, "I'll win our next match, you damn _hodar_. And stay away from my clan's women. They deserve better than your smooth words and boastful self."

"No boasts, Vorten! I don’t need to tell lies, anyway!  No! It's all true!" Corridan crowed, while the warriors gathered around him cheered. They pumped their fists into the air in another mad clamor of riotous excitement.

Vorten grinned.  He leaned in close for another moment, his implant gleaming over his ruined eye as he murmured, "Remember what I asked, Corridan. _Ret'!_ " Torian frowned as the older warrior turned to move away, his soldiers nodding as they followed after him. He glanced at Corridan.

"What’s he looking for, Corridan?"

"Fighters. His squad has some work in the days ahead and he's looking for additional fighters to join his ranks.”  Corridan rolled his shoulders, “I want you to be one of them.  It’s why I pressed you forward."

Torian pursed his lips as he considered. The opportunity to join Fett’s team was something worthy, would earn him a new, honorable place among the clans.  Something beyond the safety of Ordo, where everyone waved their hands and whispered how Ordo and Cadera were always allies.  Torian wanted to show them he could stand on his own, earn his own place.  So he asked, "What sort of jobs?"

"Jobs closer to the Enclave. Closer to the Mandalore, too. Jobs that get you noticed, seen, earns honor." Corridan looked at Torian with a serious expression on his face, "It will mean winning your name all over again, of course. Not that you'd be losing the one you won with us, either. You know I consider you _vod_ , Torian."

Torian grinned at him, joking, "You only like the way the women follow me around. Gives you some small chance to win their attentions."

Corridan laughed. "Hah! You go off for two days with a twi'lek and think you can compete with the best. I'll show you how to impress the ladies, Torian! Not that it's hard to do here on Dromund Kaas. Imperial women tend to think Mandalorians are like some kind of exotic prize, anyway." Then Corridan spun around, catching sight of a curvaceous figure trying to skirt around the group, "Speaking of ladies!"

Torian chuckled as the red headed woman with a voluptuous form encased in heavy green leathers pointed a finger towards Corridan, "Don't you dare bother with me, you goat of a Mando!"

"Seems she has you well placed, Corridan," Torian bent over, holding his sides as he laughed. Around him, the Mandalorians burst out into raucous peels of loud laughter themselves, especially when Corridan rushed over to the short woman to pick her up and swing her around.

"How dare you question my appeal, Crysta! You'll have to make it up to me! Swear it!" But Crysta only squealed, slapping at Corridan's chest and shoulders as she quickly grew dizzy. Corridan lowered his head, pressed his lips against Crysta's cheek where he proceeded to blow wild raspberries against her skin. Crysta shrieked shrilly, swinging her fist into the side of Corridan's head so hard he nearly dropped her. He lowered her to the ground instead, and then he clutched his head dramatically, "Wounded! You've wounded me, woman! Argh!"

The warriors broke into new rounds of hilarity, all of them calling out to Crysta to forgive the Mando and soothe his "wounds". She bit her lip, trying not to laugh as she waved her hands in the air, "Leave off, all of you, geesh! You're not impressing me, I'm telling you!"

Corridan eyed her through the spaces between his fingers, which he still held over his face, adopting a properly curious mien, "Well then. What could we do that would work to impress you, then? Tell us! And we’ll overcome any challenge you put before us, prove what incredible warriors we really are! Won't we, _Mando'ad_?" Corridan smiled when the troop of warriors around them cheered, pumping their fists into the air and yelled for her to challenge them.

Crysta shook her head, muttering about who was madder – Mandoes. Or herself, for surrounding herself with Mandoes. Finally, she laughed and crooked a single finger towards Corridan, who duly leaned forward to hear her whisper the challenge against his ear. He laughed then, throwing his head backwards as he called out, "I can do that, Crysta! Come on, warriors! We go to the melee!" Corridan leaned over and thrust his shoulder into Crysta's stomach, lifting her up and over his shoulder.  Cyrsta hung against him and laughed like some mad bird, as the Mandalorians proceeded into the arena where the entire Enclave was gathering.

Torian stepped close to Corridan as they took their places against the walls of the Clan Ordo section of the arena hall. Crysta shook her head as she settled next to Corridan, trying to stop her head from spinning. She leaned over, peering down towards the arena floor where the assistant huntmaster Lek was addressing the hunters.

Torian watched as Corridan patted Crysta's rump firmly. She slapped at his hand, snarled how she’d lop it off if he touched her butt again. Corridan playfully surrendered, holding his hands up in the air and laughing, "It was just too tempting a sight, I swear." Then Corridan looked down at the hunters, too. He grunted sourly, "Sorry looking group."

"That's cause you ain't seen my girl yet." Crysta elbowed Corridan in the side, pointing as a female figure moved into view, "There she is! Coming into the arena now! Purty thing, even if she don't put on no airs. And overcome everything tossed her way to get here today. I'm telling you, Cor. That there is the hunter to beat this time around. She's going to take the title of Champion by the time it's finished. I’d bet my last credit on it, I kid you not!"

Torian craned his head to catch sight of the newcomer. Her armor was worn tight against her frame and fitted well, the leathers stained with blues and browns. Her feminine curves, both her front and backside, were sweet-looking, tempting – a perfect female frame that her armor only highlighted, not hid away.

She had no helmet obscuring her face, although Torian couldn't exactly make out her features from where he was standing. But her hair was black, cropped close against the nape of her neck and framing her face, and her skin was pale and smooth, creamy-looking. Except for the twisted edges of scars against the side of her face, that curved down and under the collar of her armor's underlining.  He could see the glinting of implants lining her eyes, as well.  Someone ripped the woman apart at one point, he thought.

Corridan eyed her curiously, asked, "Implants to boost her skills, Crysta?"

"Only if you count hearing a mere skill. Girl's deaf without 'em, anyway. Wounded when she was still little, from what I can gather. Leastwise, the scars _look_ old.”  Crysta glanced at Corridan, serious suddenly, “Lek was impressed by her."

Corridan blinked.  Lek was a hard taskmaster, an oldster who’d survived countless battles to reach the position where younger warriors asked him for guidance and training alike.  Corridan grumbled as he eyed the strange hunter again, "Takes a lot to impress that old man."

Crysta shook her head, "Shit! My girl just _talks_ , and you're impressed. I’m not even joking! But she's got talent to back it up, too. Never seen the like."

Torian grunted thoughtfully, never taking his eyes off the woman as she stepped into the arena. Lek turned to bark something at her, but she only shrugged back at him, unconcernedly.  He wished he could’ve heard the words.  He didn’t look up from her as he remarked, "Thought you were good friends with Jewl'a, Crysta. You think this hunter is better?"  Crysta was quiet for a long moment. Long enough both Corridan and Torian finally looked over at her, catching her regarding the hunter below with extraordinary consideration. Finally, she looked back at them. She nodded at them, "Yea. She's better. But if you ever tell Jewl'a I said so, I'll cut off yer balls. You hear me?"

Corridan made soothing noises, grinning as he leaned over as if to blow more raspberries against her neck. But Crysta laughed, waving him away as she went back to watching the match.  Torian was already ignoring them both again. He was fascinated with the hunter, watching her move as she settled into a ready stance there on the arena floor. She carried two blasters and held them steadily as she looked around.  She was measuring each one of her opponents.  A smart move, Torian thought.

There was a female Mirialan hunter, thin and petite; a couple of humans, both male; a Trandoshan with rather yellow-looking scaly skin – even a Gamorrean, with his pig-like features bulging out of dark armor.

Torian grunted when the hunter subtly turned towards the Mirialan, correctly surmising the greatest threat came from the slight-looking female. The others would fight amongst themselves, anyway, disregarding the females until the end. And then the superior skills of one or the other female would quickly dispatch whoever had managed to survive.

The hunter was responding capably to the shape the battle would take, even before it started.  Like she could see the rhythm and pulse of the fight over the arena sands, even before the first shot.  It was a real skill, that.  The best fighters remained a step ahead of their enemies, and regardless of their size and brawn.

"Did Lek just say he thought the hunter was dead?" Corridan asked Crysta. Torian glanced over at Crysta, saw her nodding.

"That's what we were told earlier. Ask me, and it's more like someone was trying to _make sure_ she was dead before the melee."

Torian scowled, "Cheating happening?"

"Oh shit yea. Although all within the bounds of the rules, so far.”  Crysta grumbled bitterly, “Gratta reported my girl's team was slaughtered back on Hutta, for one. Only a little slip of a slicer girl survived to help her along the way. All her marks here on Dromund Kaas were made to be the hardest, most difficult ones, too." Crysta snorted, "Hells!  Bastard from Imperial Intelligence that hired us for a job actually tried killing her after she nabbed his stupid tags, even!"

Torian looked back at the woman, canting his head as she tapped her blasters against her thighs and scanned the arena again.  The hunter was focused on the fight, not the cheering crowds in the stands overhead.  He murmured, "But she didn't give up." His tone was thick, admiring. Then he frowned, "You said she was wounded when she was little. How?"

"Dunno. Not exactly a question you ask a person.”  Crysta laughed, “I don’t ask Vorten Fett how he lost his eye, either. Don’t think the question would go over so well. ‘Come on, you can tell me!' Nope, I'm just assuming it was something done to her when she was little, cause the scars on her face are pretty old."  She didn’t notice the thoughtful expression on his face, as she leaned closer to the edge so she could see the hunter slowly easing her feet apart, bracing herself in place.

Corridan leaned his shoulder against Torian's side, rolling his eyes. "Have you fallen in love, Torian? Maybe we can make introductions after she wins the melee, huh? Crysta's her handler, anyway. She can probably make it happen."  Crysta harrumphed loudly.

"Oh, no you don't! You leave the woman be! She's got a job to do, a Hunt to win!"

"Would you stand in the way of true love, Crysta?"

"True love, my ass. If it's so true, it will last long after she has the title of Grand Champion. Now leave me be!"

"But he'll have more competition after she has the title, too. Hey, now that I think about it …" Corridan leaned forward, looking at the woman hunter with an appraising regard, eyeing the curves her armor emphasized and whistling softly.

Crysta thumped him hard against the shoulder, "You leave her alone, too, dammit! I swear, I'm going to have that hunter off this damn planet hours after this melee is finished. I mean it! I need to keep all of you Mandoes away from her!"

Corridan clucked at her in mocking dismay, just as the first shots of the melee resounded. Torian shot forward, leaning over the edge of the spectator section to better see the hunters going at it, his fingers gripping the half-wall firmly.

As he'd supposed, his hunter had dodged the first shots from the Mirialan. She suddenly leaped towards the green-skinned female, bashing against the side of her head with one of her blasters before firing at her with the other. The Mirialan leaned left in just enough time to avoid losing her head to the first bolt.

But not the next. The hunter was loosing a second bolt directly on the heels of her first, so fast the whirl of her blasters moving up and over was a blur.  It was a quick staccato shot that caught the Mirialan squarely in the chest and blasted her back and off the edge of the arena floor. Wild cheers broke from the crowd as the green-skinned female tumbled into a bleeding heap against the hard tiles of the floor below the arena.

The hunter swung around then.  She jetted above the arena to fire an incredible burst of shots towards the last two men still fighting on the other side of the arena, and the crowds in the stands yelled and cheered wildly at the spectacle she made.

The Gamorrean's loud snorting squeals of pain rang out as his huge body absorbed the shots coming from the woman's blasters. The human he was fighting wisely leaped behind him during the firestorm from overhead, hunkering down in the terrible shelter the Gamorrean had suddenly become. He was ready by the time the Gamorrean dropped dead into the sand and the hunter fell back towards the arena. He fired just as her boots touched the sandy floor of the fighting surface.

But she smoothly jumped out of the way, prepared.  She rolled to her side before coming up to a knee and holding up both of her blasters, her arms crossed over each other to better support her weapons as she proceeded to fire. She unloaded her blasters in a steady stream of shots towards the man she was fighting, the resounding noise of the attack filling the air even above the wild cheers that erupted from the crowd.

Torian leapt to his feet, yelling loudly in celebration as the hunter stood up straight over her downed rivals. She turned to face the crowd, her dark hair dripping with sweat and blood and sand. The Mandalorians called out wild cries, " _Oya_! _Oya_!" She regarded them all for a moment, breathing hard, an obvious rush of adrenalin thrilling through her. The scene was incredible, the excitement palpable, and Torian watched as a glad, proud smile finally etched its way across her face. He shouted when he saw her raise a fist into the air, declaring herself victor and cheering back at them. She nodded firmly then, before she moved off the arena floor, following after Lek, who was waving towards her.

Torian looked over at Crysta, his face stretched wide with a smile, "Are you certain you couldn't introduce me to her?"

Crysta shook her head, shooting rude hand gestures towards the other warriors around them calling over to her, "Dammit, no! You see the way Lek dragged her out of here? He knows as well as I do, she has work to do." She grasped his arm, leaned closer, "I mean it, Torian. You're not the only Mando here tonight who decided she was worth a look-see. There can't be any hint of collusion from the clans for any sponsored hunter. She has to prove herself, is what Mandalore himself has said."

Corridan smiled tightly, his eyebrow raised up as he glanced around at the nearby crowd, "That's a hunter worth watching, Torian. But Crysta's right. The Hunt is serious business."

Torian looked over at the door where the Hunter had disappeared, "I just … No, you're right." He sighed, shaking his head. There was something about the woman – something that demanded he get closer, to see her. He wanted to know _who_ she was. Argued with himself, just to keep from following behind her.  To know for sure …

It can't be her. Can't be. Impossible. The doctors told them she was dead. But … Torian shook himself as he turned away, followed Corridan as they stepped down from the stands and followed the milling crowds through the doors. Vorten Fett would want to talk to him some more, at the very least.

But Torian massaged his arm as they moved, felt the rustle of the blood-stained fabric he always wrapped around his forearm under his gauntlet. _It can't be_ …


	15. Don't Hate Him Now

"All right, you disgusting pile of puke! Drop your weapon and kiss the floor!"

Kastiel ignored the pompous Imperial officer who was standing in the doorway of the hangar, waving his hands imperiously and ranting at her.  She only glanced past him instead, eyeing the boxy-looking, ugly starship parked inside. Mako made a noise from beside her, just a small grunt of some disgust. Kastiel almost smiled over at her. Ugly or not, that was _her_ ship now and the increasingly agitated officer facing her wasn't going to change that.

"This is one starship that's not getting stolen on my watch! Do you hear me, scum?" He wiggled his little mustache at her every time he said something. Kastiel considered telling him how ridiculous he looked as he continued ranting at her.  But men rarely responded well to insults about their facial hair. Not that Kas thought this guy would respond over-well to any of the insults she was about to give him.

But mentioning his furry lip made this business a little too personal and for no real reason. The Mandalorians had tasked her to steal a ship. Steal it, she would.  Let the fool bask in the illusion the hair on his face was somehow attractive.

Kastiel only pointed down at her hip, "Sorry. Could you repeat all that into this barrel?  For the sake of posterity, so I don’t forget."  The two soldiers behind the officer tensed, pressing closer to their commander and clutching their weapons.

The Neimoidian smuggler who had probably owned that bucket-of-bolts ship in the hangar until Kastiel walked in to claim it stood off to the side, rubbing his large forehead anxiously. She almost snorted at him. His colorful coat was marked with greasy food stains and his pants were so filthy she couldn't tell if they were supposed to be grey or brown.

Dammit, Kas thought. Based on the man’s grubby appearance, she was going to be purely busy fir days just cleaning her new ship. She mentally calculated how much bleach she would need to wash the thing down with, just as the officer huffed at her, "You filthy little offworld virus! I've had three ships stolen this year by the Mandalorians and their unwashed cohorts!"

"Actually, I make it a point to bathe. Not so sure about your … compatriots, there," Kastiel nodded towards the Neimoidian.

The officer twitched angrily, but the smuggler took to grumbling. His skin was turning pink.  He was probably nauseous, Kastiel judged. That, and his chest was heaving as his lungs expanded under the stress of the confrontation. Why would a Neimoidian have chosen the profession of smuggler, given his species’ inability to handle anxiety?  So he wasn’t only dirty but stupid, too.  Figures … Kastiel upped the tally on the bleach she’d have to purchase. 

The agitated alien whined long and loud, "Why are you people talking? You caught her red handed! Now kill, kill, kill!"

Kastiel smiled at the little man with his over-big head, "Ah, don't interrupt the Imperial. It's just plain rude to bother him when he’s only getting started.  All that frustration!  He needs to vent!  Before he explodes, at least. Right, guys?"

"Damn you! If Tarro Blood hadn't warned me about this little tradition of the Mandalorians, I never would have known to come here to stop you!”  The officer’s furred lip bent and twisted.  He actually waved a fist at her then, “I’ll make you pay for the insult!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes.  She crossed her arms over her chest as she glanced towards her companion, "That figures. Mako, add this little incident to our ever-growing list of reasons we're going to kill Tarro Blood, ‘kay?"

"How many reasons do you think we'll rack up before it's done?"

"Hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves! Bad enough he made these poor guys into saps. No need to rub it in their faces."

"Oh, yea. My bad."

"Enough!" The Imperial burst out, pointing at Kastiel, "Get her! Shoot her dead!"

Mako stepped smoothly behind Kastiel, using the armored bounty hunter as something of a shield even as she lifted her blaster to shoot at the Neimoidian. The man screeched in that strange echoing call common to his species as the shot caught him right in the chest, spinning him around before he tumbled bleeding to the ground. Mako finished him off with another shot to his large melon-shaped head, grunting as his green blood splashed out across the floor, “Gross!  He bleeds green!”

Kastiel reached forward, grabbing the officer by the lapels of his jacket and spinning him around until his back was to her front. She held him there with an arm around his throat, even as she raised her blaster towards the two soldiers now barking at her with their rifles held up. She whispered into the officer's ear, "Tarro Blood didn’t even warn you, did he?  Don't worry. I'll make him pay for it."

Then she fired rapidly, gunning down the two soldiers as they stood there stupidly debating whether to defend their commander-turned-captive. The officer whined piteously as both the men fell dead towards the floor. But Kastiel shoved him, hard, so that he fell forward onto his arms and knees and actually slid through the blood the soldiers' corpses were streaming across the floor. He cried out, yelling panicked sounds as he slipped and stumbled, trying to get back to his feet.

But Kastiel was already shooting. Her first shot took him in the lower back, and then he yelped in burning pain. He also fell forward, landing with a hard thud flat and prone against the floor as his spine was neatly severed by the blaster bolt. He gurgled through the blood filling his mouth. That's when Kastiel's second shot smacked into the back of his skull, ending his last desperate struggle to breathe.

Mako stepped over to look closer at the officer's body. She shook her head towards Kastiel, "For a second there I thought you shot him in the ass."

Kastiel frowned, shrugging, "Why add insult to injury?"

Mako laughed. The two women moved towards the hangar, watching silently as the workers in the space ran for the doors as the sounds of blaster fire echoed through the space. Kastiel grunted towards Mako, "Told them it was my ship."

"Actually, I don't think they gave you a chance to actually _say_ that. Too busy calling you scum and virus."

"Well, I _thought_ it. They should've listened."

Mako grinned at her as they approached the ramp leading towards the starship's airlock door. "I won't care if we insult Tarro Blood as we injure him, though. Just think how funny that would look, Tarro Blood shot in the ass and crawling along the floor … sweet stuff."

Kastiel grunted, "How are we supposed to tell the difference between his ass and his face, though? They look so much alike."

Mako chuckled sourly, "Well, he paints his face."

"True. Although we don't know. He may paint his ass, too." Kastiel stopped on the ramp, looked over at Mako, "He's living on borrowed time, regardless. I promise, Mako."

Mako sighed. "He's the first person I've ever really hated. I don't really like the feeling. I just want to make him pay!"

Kastiel shrugged, "I've hated several people. Use that feeling to fuel you, hold you to your course. Some people, Mako. They just need to die. Best way to relieve hatred is to remove the people causing you to feel it."

Mako wondered for a brief moment about Kastiel's more personal kills, feeling certain there had been some. But she didn't ask. She followed the hunter through into the airlock of the ship, rather. In front of her, Kastiel started grumbling. Mako stopped, craned her neck to see around the bounty hunter. "What stinks?"

"The entire fucking ship stinks, actually.  Is that fish, maybe?  That Neimodian didn’t smell this bad."

The two women gaped at the space, glancing around with wide eyes. The cargo hold where they were standing was littered with piles of scrap, much of it outright garbage. A nearby workbench was crammed with broken parts and greasy metals. Kastiel stepped forward, kicking a rather large piece of aluminium out of her way and causing a nasty clanging sound to echo through the space.

The noise apparently managed to summon a droid then, "Oh! Hello! I am not sure who you are but welcome to my master's vessel. How may I be of assistance, good, kind sir?" Kastiel ran her gaze up and down the machine’s figure as it hurried out from behind a large crate to stand in front of her in a shaking heap of torn up metal. The thing's chassis was pockmarked with dents and scratches, probably from being tossed or pushed into the piles of trash strewn all around the hold.

Kastiel sighed, gesturing towards Mako, "Get us out of here quickly, Mako. That pitiful captain back there might have called for backup before we shot him in the ass."

"You didn't hit him in the ass, actually. It was his back," Mako reminded her as she stepped towards the steel stairwell leading up towards what they presumed was a bridge area.

"Hey, it worked!" Kastiel looked back towards the droid, queried it through narrowed eyes, "What are you called, droid?"

"I am a 2V-R8 protocol droid, sir. I am normally referred to by my master as Junk."

"Was the Neimoidian your master?"

"I am not certain which Neimoidian you’re referring to, sir.  But my master was a Neimoidian, yes."

"Well, he's dead, complete with green gooey blood all over the floor back there. I'm your master now. Is that going to be a problem?"

The droid shook his triangle-shaped, metallic head, "Absolutely not, kind new master. He didn't bathe. It was rather disgusting.”  Then the machine trembled, holding up both metal hands defensively.  As if it were surrendering.  Kastiel wondered if the thing needed a small, white flag, although she doubted there was anything on this ship that maintained a clean, white appearance, either.  The droid wailed suddenly, “Not that there's anything wrong with that, if you do not like to bathe either, sweet gentle master."

Kastiel sighed impatiently. She could feel the rumble under her feet as the ship's engines began whirring. She gestured towards the droid, shrugging, "Tell you what. Stop calling me 'sweet', 'gentle', or 'kind' and I won't call you 'Junk', okay? We'll refer to you as Two, rather."

"Yes, master. I will respond to the designation of Two from now on."

"Good. Your primary function from here on out will be cleaning up this heap of a ship. Begin here in the hold. All of these scraps need to be organized into salvageable piles. Anything that can't be sold on the Trade Network needs to be removed. Get to it, Two. I need this space cleared enough I can train and spar in here." Kastiel watched the droid turn to begin pulling and yanking through the rubbish.  She added brooms and cleaning cloths to the list of items that needed purchasing.

She grunted as she moved to follow Mako. She passed through a semi-large space that acted as a lounge and mess combination. A table with bench seating was bolted against a nearby wall, alongside a stretch of counter and meal-preparation machines. Kastiel considered checking the cold storage for whatever foodstuffs might be inside but she decided to leave that task to the droid. It's not like she was going to eat anything that had been stored in the place.

A stop at the Vaiken Spacedock was necessary, Kastiel decided. She had earned pay enough on Dromund Kaas to outfit the ship with basics and necessities. She should probably refit her new droid, too. The thing's chassis was nearly worn through. And it was obvious the thing was going to prove necessary to maintaining some small semblance of order on the ship.

Kastiel stepped into the hallway leading off from the lounge towards the bridge. She noted the doorway leading to the commander's quarters as she went along. She scanned that space quickly. There was a large bed, a storage cabinet and desk, and another small door that surely led to a refresher. Her fingers itched to clean the two rooms, but Mako suddenly called out just then.

"Kas! Kas, hurry!"

Mako was leaning over the navigation console on the bridge and muttering anxiously. Kastiel glanced out the viewport to see the skyline over Kaas City as the ship continued to rise into the air. She frowned, bending over slightly to better see what looked like a multitude of burning trails through the gloomy, rainy skies over the city. She frowned, "Mako, what is that? It looks like some kind of meteor shower."

"Those aren't meteors. That's debris! An Imperial dreadnaught just blew up and pieces of it are falling all over the city! Comm traffic is going nuts! We're damn lucky we took off when we did, mind you. It seems Imperial Intelligence is already stopping ships from leaving the spaceport."

Kastiel’s eyes widened as she gasped out, "Damn it to hell!" Kas turned and rushed back down the hallway towards the lounge. She quickly keyed in for transmission on the holoterminal, anxiously tapping her booted foot against the floor as she waited for him to respond. "Come on, come on … answer me, dammit!"

"Kas? Is that you, Kas?" Tobie's image blurred into shape on the terminal, and Kastiel gasped with relief. She could see him strapping a pack to his side even as he addressed her transmission, knew he was preparing to rush out and assist in the disaster response, "Did you get out of the city, Kas? Tell me you're okay!"

"Me? Shit, Tobie! There's flaming debris raining down on the city! Stop worrying about me!"

"Bah! I've been in combat plenty of times. Flaming debris is par for the course. Where are you, girl?"

"Got me a ship. We left the spaceport just now. Do you need help?"

"No! Get out of here! I'm going to assist the survivors, help investigators as I can. You know you have to keep your head down, make sure your brother doesn't find you … Hey, maybe the debris will take out Karen's blasted relatives!"

Kastiel chuckled sourly, "Only you could find something to hope for in this mess, Tobie."

Tobie shrugged back at her, his eyes narrowed sorrowfully for a long moment, "Sometimes I think it would've been better if I did as you asked and stole him away from them years ago.  And to chaos itself with Dace Gredge’s stupid caution."

"They would have come after us, used it as excuse enough to kill all of us.”  Kastiel looked away, trying not to remember that night.  How much Khyriel was bleeding when she left him there for Tobie to work over, how hard she cried against leaving him.  But the Hejarans couldn’t find her, couldn’t know she was alive.  They might go looking for the twins, then. “They'd already hurt him so much. You were right, Tobie.  We had to keep them all safe the best we could."

Tobie grunted, his eyes narrowing at her, "His uncle still ended up dead later on, Kas. Funny, that."

Kastiel shrugged, scraped her fingers against the bottom edge of her armored breastplate, the leather lining.  She pondered aloud, "His uncle died? Strange. How did that happen?"

He glared at her, "Just stay out of sight, Kas. Pella Hejaran is still looking to find the one who did it.  She calls it an insult, mind you. That’s a woman who never tolerated embarrassment well, which is how highly she considers her husband’s murder, too.  Sickening woman." He looked back over his shoulder, "There are explosions sounding. I have to go, Kas. Please. Stay safe, fight hard. I love you, girl."

Kastiel watched as his image disappeared. She turned around to see Mako standing just behind her, her head canted thoughtfully. Mako had been not so little discomfited to learn Kastiel’s brother was the fine-looking fellow wearing an Imperial uniform as they rushed out the headquarters building a week ago.  Imperial Intelligence was one of those things Mako thought it better to avoid, at least. 

Now Mako wondered slowly, "So. Was this uncle of your brother's one of those people you said you'd hated?"

Kastiel only smiled, a malicious twist of her lips, "I don't hate him anymore."


	16. Noticing them, what?

"Heya, gorgeous!"

Kastiel eyed the man critically, unsmiling – a human, with a bushy brown beard covering the lower half of his face. His unkempt appearance screamed "local", at least. Any of the Imperial goon officers gathered together like little herds of cud-chewing Nerfs here at Sobrik would lose what senses they had if they were to catch sight of one of their men garbed like this one. His clothes were simple and frayed, a pale creamy color, and his armor was barely tied up against his frame. But there was a well-worn rifle tossed over his back, too. Least he had that much going for him.

He was staring at her heatedly, his gaze sliding across her form and back up to her face.  Kastiel wondered what he was after, as she sniffed in the hot air from the Balmorra skyline overhead.  Everything here seemed to be burning up, like the whole world was a mess of heated exhaust and liquid fuels.

" _Resistance, maybe_ ," Kastiel thought, as she remembered the cajoling whine the captain inside the entrance-way of the spaceport kept shouting at her back as she pushed past him. That this guy might seriously consider her attractive never even occurred to her. She only shrugged at the fellow, "What do you want?" Mako shifted beside her, still more fascinated looking at Sobrik's huge artillery guns than anything else.

His eyes went dark with anxiety and he slanted a glance at the spaceport, "Don't think you can help me, really. Although you're not from Balmorra, either. You important to these Imperials?"

"I damn well hope not. Becoming important to the Empire is more dangerous than accepting a loan from a Hutt,” Kastiel smiled darkly.  The one thing she tried doing since leaving Dromund Kaas when she was sixteen, was to keep her head down and out of sight from anyone the Empire could call “important”.  At least until she found a place of her own, a footing secure enough she could _shoot back_ against the people who’d want to finish making her dead.  For real this time.

The Balmorran sighed.  Heavily.  Maybe the grime lacing the thick air was bothering his lungs, too.  He grunted, "I need help. Trying to get in and talk to someone, get me inside. There's no way I want to fight anymore. I'm so damn tired. I heard the Imperials pay big for information. Maybe enough to get me off and away from this blasted-up rock."

Kastiel shook her head at him, "If I were you, I'd steer long clear of anything like selling secrets to Imperials. Probably cost more than it'll ever earn you."

"I have to get out of here, see."

She nodded towards the front of Sobrik, far away from the spaceport.  She pointed in that direction, "I recommend using the gates, right over there."

He crossed his arms across his chest, leaning back against the stone overhang, there in front of the spaceport.  He pointedly ignored her advice. Idiot.  Kastiel twisted her lips in wry acknowledgement and turned away from him, moving further into Sobrik.  She left him behind, to learn the truth for himself.  Hells, he might even survive the experience.  Although she doubted it, too. 

Mako trotted along beside her, craning her head all around.  Her implants gleamed red against her face, mirroring the dark colors from the smoky sky overhead.  "This place is hopping with crazy comm signals, Kas! And just about every one of them is heavily encrypted. Stuff that's not is heavy propaganda pieces. It's enough to make my head hurt." Mako shouldered Kastiel suddenly, "That guy was interested, you know. Might have gotten him to give up his little play there, if you'd given him some better attention."

Kastiel stopped and turned to look at Mako, utterly confused. She grumbled, "What are you talking about? The human at the spaceport? He was interested in selling out to the Imperials."

"What? Kas, he was interested in _you_ first. When you blew him off was when he admitted his business, here." Mako watched the expressions flashing across Kastiel's face, the bewilderment there. She grinned at the hunter, "Wow, you had no idea, did you?"

Kastiel looked up at the shield arching over the garrison, the flashing golden matrixes of the dome, there. She only muttered, shrugging, "Wasn't me he wanted. Only what I could do for him. Which wasn't much, obviously. And it doesn't matter, anyway. He'll eventually get the attention he's looking for. Doubt he'll like it much."

"Wait a minute!" Mako snatched at Kastiel's arm as she began to walk along. The tiny cyborg was shaking her head when Kas stopped again. "You honestly don't think a guy might just like you? Come on! Men look at you everywhere we go! You're … amazing!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes, "There's no word that could mean 'stupid' enough to encompass that statement, Mako." Mako just shook her head, stunned. Kastiel gestured towards her face, waving her hand up slowly, "Look at me, Mako! When I was a kid, they called me 'dog face' and 'metal brain'. When I finally grew a pair of tits worth looking at, they offered to cover my head so all they would have to look at was my body." Kastiel turned away when Mako's gaze suddenly softened with sympathy. She snorted, "Don't get all teary-eyed on me, either. It's not really important. Just the way things are, is all."

Mako sighed, "And here I thought _I_ was the one with all the hang-ups. I'm scrawny enough most men think I'm a little kid. The ones who look past all that are worried they'll hurt me if they go at it the way I like them to, even." She looked over at Kastiel, shooting her a sly smile, "Hey, at least we both know it's males we like. Was worried at first you were into women. Not that I would be bothered, mind you. But I wouldn't know how to let you down without hurting your feelings."

Kastiel suddenly barked out a laugh. She held up one of her gloved hands, "Gods, Mako. Stop!"

Mako leaned back suddenly, pretending concern. She murmured worriedly, "Hey. You _are_ interested in men, right?"

"Geez, Mako. Yes, all right!" Kas laughed helplessly, “Not that I’m looking right now, either.  Got this Hunt thing going on and so I’m fairly busy at the moment …”

"Oh, good. Phew! Wouldn't want to think I'd inadvertently hurt your feelings by saying I didn't want to hurt your feelings," Mako smiled as the bounty hunter continued laughing. She was gratified to see the other woman's pleasure right then, to know she'd offered some small bit of humor to ruin the embarrassment which had been coloring her features. Besides. Neither one of them had had much to laugh about recently, she thought.

Eventually, the two women continued walking, ducking from out of the way of sauntering Imperial officers and fast-moving dredges.  There was even a few Sith here and there.  But Kastiel was focused on reaching the office and quarters of one Lieutenant Major Pirrel – toady and stooge to the right and ready Admiral Ivernus.  Who didn’t know he was a current target in the Mandalore’s Great Hunt, mind you.

Pirrel was hopefully going to provide them the means of attracting Ivernus down to the surface of Balmorra, even if he didn’t _know_ it. Mako's circuits were working in overdrive as they walked along, plotting ways to keep Pirrel off guard just long enough to maneuver him and his commander into the best possible set of circumstances.  Hopefully he was just idiot enough to play along.

But Mako stumbled slightly as one last thought occurred to her in regards to Kastiel's romantic aspirations. Her gaze narrowed on the bounty hunter's back just as they entered through the doorway leading into the Lieutenant Major’s offices.  She practically blurted out the question, even.  And how stupid would that be, too? 

Mako only bit her lip hard enough she felt the soft skin crunch between her teeth, and grimaced against the pain.  Who would really believe some tough, ready bounty hunter was a fucking _virgin_ , anyway?


	17. Just Need Killing

" _A gift from a friend on Dromund Kaas, my ass_ ," she thought. Kastiel was dumbfounded as she watched the simpering meows the Cathar woman was making as she leaned up against the Imperial officer. Pirrel simply ate it up, like a little dog chowing down on a piece of bloody meat. She was almost tempted to pat his stomach in reward for being such a complete boob of a man.

But then the Cathar reached down to run a hand across Pirrel's chest towards the upper part of his stomach, beating Kastiel to the punch. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.  "Master is wise and powerful," the feline woman crooned some more.

Pirrel yanked on some of the tendrils of fur lining the side of the woman's thin head, before he winked over at Kastiel. "Murghir, you _are_ an amusing bit of fluff, hmmm? My apologies for the delay at the door, bounty hunter. I never informed that idiot droid I was hiring a bounty hunter."

Kastiel shrugged. Playing with the droid – the sounds the thing had made when she asked it what the penalty for destroying an Imperial droid was, just before she leveled her blaster at its head – that alone had proved entertaining enough she was in a fairly good mood as she entered the lieutenant major's office. Pirrel gestured towards Kastiel, motioning her towards a corner of the room.

She smirked just behind his back, but Kas followed him along.  She ignored Mako's hissing reminder to stay on Pirrel's "good side". Kas snorted quietly to herself. She refused to rub the fool officer's chest, like the dumbass of a Cathar. As he leaned closer to whisper to her, though, she thought she just might be able sing some nonsense at him. Maybe. " _Not a single damn meow, dammit_ ," she thought, lowering her head conspiratorially.

Pirrel murmured. "My superior, Colonel Sartius, is an incompetent fool. I toil in his shadow. It infuriates me that Colonel Sartius is the one who has the full confidence of Admiral Ivernus, when it should be me!"  Kastiel raised her eyebrows at him, pretending shocked dismay.

"Colonel Sartius maintains his position of power because he excels at hiding his gross incompetence from the Admiral. But _we're_ going to destroy that façade," Pirrel waved a hand in some grand gesture. As if he’d be doing shit, Kastiel contemplated darkly.

Kastiel worked at reminding herself how important it was to manipulate the man. Not laugh in his face as she imagined the Admiral tossing him out an airlock.  If he were lucky enough to reach that point.  He might end up with a blaster bolt to the face first.

For now Kastiel nodded sagely, rather.  She muttered, "I get it. So the colonel loses his job and the admiral comes here to give you a promotion.  Definite merit to the plan, truly."  Not so much for Pirrel, though.  Although Kastiel didn’t say anything of the sort to him.

Pirrel smiled. "We're going to work so well together. I can tell."

Kastiel bit the inside of her lip again. _I didn't even have to meow_ , she thought.

* * *

 

Kastiel decided to hunt when she was just fifteen years old. Until then all the learning she did -- whether it was fighting the various gang members or criminals that remained pervasive in the Lower Reaches of Kaas City or more formal sessions with sparring trainers in out of the way rooms and basements – those encounters she sought from necessity.  She looked to defend herself, to keep the next thug from taking something, or someone important to her.

It was when she was fifteen that she deliberately set her course towards a difference, when she finally decided that waiting for an attack wasn't half as worthwhile as attacking one's attacker firstly. Sometimes, at least.  If they were worth that much attention.

That was the year she began seeking hunters to teach her, to guide her. She picked up her first blaster when Braden finally caved in and showed her how to handle the thing.  He taught her how to manipulate the weapons, how to swing them until they almost became parts of her body, extensions of her own arms and hands. He told her once, " _Watching you shoot is like watching a person come home for the very first time, girl. It's just something that_ belongs _to you, is all_."

Although the first time she killed a man, she didn’t use a blaster. That bastard didn't deserve a clean kill, anyway.

No, she beat him to death.

She didn’t even use her fists, just raised the rod over her head in steady, precise blows against the most vulnerable locations on the man's body, all those spots made pudgy from his overly rich diet and lavish lifestyle. When he fell to the floor, gasping in pained distress, she turned to kicking him using the thick boots that covered her slim feet, too. In the end, though, she clubbed him using the long metal tool shaped like a rod with a clawed end of sorts, probably used to reach items on the upper shelves there in that study of his. She'd recognized the shape and width of the device, anyway. So had he. He whimpered when she finally held it harshly across his neck.

She was just sixteen years old at the time. And she never once regretted the killing. Not once. She told Mako some people needed killing. Because the simple fact was that it was true. It was a mantra she carried with her as she began making her first hunts, her first jobs. And it worked pretty well, so that killing sometimes became little more than a chore. Just taking out the trash, she would tell herself.

Other times, the lines between who really needed killing became grey and blurry, though. Watching the slender, trembling slicer Pirrel had called Zalia crawling out from underneath some loose garbage behind a computer console where she'd been hiding for – how long had she been hiding in there, Kas wondered, bemusedly – well, those were the times Kastiel wanted to kick the person who'd hired her more than she did her actual target. She sighed heavily, thinking, “ _Damn Pirrel and his fucking plan. Loose ends? The only loose end that needed to be worried about was the one rubbing his damned stomach!_ "

Zalia was shaking from lack of food and water. Kastiel nodded towards Mako, watched as the cyborg offered the skinny human a small cantina filled with clean drinking water. The woman began stammering then, "We have … to get out of here!"

Kas shook her head, "You need to input Pirrel's virus first."

Zalia gaped at her, her mouth hanging wide as she stammered, "Are you … crazy? I can't do that! If I do that, it will send out an alert which will bring a team of droids down to this section! We'll be slaughtered…!"

"A few droids aren't going to hurt me."

"You? I'm not worried about you! Do I look blaster-proof to you?"

Mako stepped forward, offered Zalia what looked like a cookie. Kas glared at Mako. Where'd she get cookies? With chocolate in them, dammit! Kastiel grumbled but Mako just nudged her. Mako said, "Hey, don’t worry about it.  We've gotten out of way worse situations, trust me."

Zalia began trembling again, "There's no way to talk you out of this, is there? I'm going to die down here, I just know it."

Kastiel sighed, exasperated, "Just do it. Wasted enough time standing here arguing about it. Seems the only way for me to find out where Mako got the cookies is to get this damn job done."  Mako chuckled as Zalia stumbled over towards the console, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "insane" and "gonna die". Kastiel shrugged her blasters loose, though, and smoothly rolled her shoulders.

In the back of her mind, she could hear the voice of that hunter trainer on the Imperial fleet, the one who pulled her off to the side as she and Mako were escaping Hutta's sour air. Gen Visla was his name. The skinny one. His brawny companion, Zakkeg, had interspersed the conversation more with grunts that sounded like words of advice. Kastiel had liked the both of them, even when they knocked her down and stomped on her chest for a bit.

" _Don't let your free hand go to waste. Balance your blasters well, rather. They need to work in concert, like a symphony. Only this one creates sweet sounds of dying. Theirs, not yours_ ," Gen told her.

Zakkeg grunted, as well, " _That's why you need to have a strong set of armor. Don't let the damn fools get the bolts anywhere close to yer skin! Keep shit from hurting you. Then give as good as you get!_ "

Now Kastiel met the droids with both blasters blazing, the fire staying steady, sweeping back and forth in front of her as the sound of whining cries from the machines began filling the air. Zalia shrieked, rushing back to hide in her pile of trash. But Mako jumped up on top of the console to add her blaster's pitch to the dance, whooping in delight as the droids clanked into heaps of smoky metal on the floor one by one.

The last droid was a huge monstrosity of a machine, rolling into the room on three large legs, large guns shooting out spitting balls of flame as it came. Kastiel rolled across the floor, coming up against one of the droid's front legs. Mako tumbled back behind the console as Kas yelled to her, "Get down, explosion incoming!" Then Kastiel thumbed a thermal grenade, thrusting the explosive into the underside of the droid and listening for the clink of its magnetic clutches before she jumped up and ran towards the cover of the now large mound of droid bodies.

Kas harrumphed as a piece of droid leg smacked into her shoulder blade, making a clanging sound against her armor and knocking her forward hard enough her face slid across the floor. She raised her head slowly and wiped across her stinging nose. She sneezed a thin trail of blood, shaking her head as she glanced back towards the burning wreckage that used to be a mean war machine, and grumbled, "Mako? You'd better be okay or I'm going to be pissed enough to blow this entire factory sky high!"

Mako laughed out loud, "Can't fool me, Kas! You're only looking for a cookie!"

Kastiel sniffed back against the blood trickling from her nose as she moved towards the console where Mako was regarding the slicer's work. That's when Zalia stumbled over to them. The slicer stared down at the wreckage, "I can't believe we made it!"

Kas was still wiping at her bloody nose. Her voice sounded particularly wheezy as she responded, "Told you so."

Zalia only stared at her. Then she reached up to clasp her hands together. "Thank you! Stars, but I've never seen anything like that! You … you're amazing!"

Kastiel shook her head at her, then, "You'd better stop making me out to be some sort of hero, Zalia. Pirrel didn't send me here to rescue your sorry ass, anyway." She heard Mako gasp from behind her.

Zalia's eyes widened. Kastiel sighed as the slicer began shaking again. Every time she shook like that, the heavy tendrils of her hair actually seemed to come alive, as if they were moving of their own volition. It reminded Kast of one of the old myths her mother had spoken of, of women who's hair was made of poisonous snakes.

Zalia held up her hands, begging. "Oh no! Please! I did as he asked, the way he wanted! I … I swear! I'll never slice another computer, not ever! Just don't hurt me … please!"

Kas glanced back at an agitated Mako, sighing, "You got a cloth or something? I can't get my nose to stop bleeding." Mako's eyebrows shot up. But she yanked out a small piece of linen, passing it to Kas with a bemused expression on her face. Zalia was still gibbering, swearing she'd pay Kastiel all the monies she'd made for the slicing job. Kas rolled her eyes, even as she held the cloth up to her face. "Geez, Zalia. Shut up. And keep your stupid credits. You'll need them to get off this world before Pirrel notices you survived his stupid little stunt, here."

Zalia gasped out, "Wha …?"

Kastiel pointed over towards wide entrance, "There's the door! Use it!"

"Thank you! Oh, gods, thank you!"  Mako watched the slicer stumble through the door, rushing away quickly even as tears slid down her dirty cheeks. She sighed as she glanced at Kas, who was looking after the fleeing woman with a bitter expression.

"What's wrong, Kas?"

"I'm trying to figure out if the fact that woman got a cookie, when I didn't, should've earned her a spot on my need-to-be-killed list."

Mako handed Kastiel a cookie.


	18. Quinn, the Monkey-Lizard

"So first we help Pirrel sabotage his Colonel's efforts to reconfigure the Okara droids to support Imperial interests – without killing the slicer, which was rather nice of us, I might add. And now we've helped rile up a bunch of sentient bugs so they'll eat more Imperials," Mako was muttering to Kastiel as they entered the chemist's shop at the Sobrik market.  She stayed barely audible, relying more on the potency of Kas' implants to pick up the low sound of her murmured comments than raising her voice. "I mean, don't you find it funny, that we're actually helping the Republic here on Balmorra, more than we are the Empire?"

Kastiel shot Mako a twisted grin, "Bear no particular loyalty to the Empire, regardless. They just pay me. If they happen to be idiots intent on sabotaging their own interests, it's nothing to me." Kas scraped her boot against the floor as she stepped in front of the chemist’s table, tossing the stinger she cut loose from the Colicoid queen creature up onto the wide surface in front of the man.  He clucked in some disgust at first. But then he noted the dripping venom still oozing from the end of the stinger.

Kas bit back a smile when the chemist made a small cooing sound, bending over the thing to prod against it with a small metal rod.  She barked at him, "I imagine Colicoid venom is worth a pretty bit, scientist. How much?" The chemist was a human, older with grey, thinning hair. He stayed in the front of the shop, unlike the aliens working behind him in the rear of the building.  Kastiel could just see two of them – an Arconan and a Duros – both of them carefully handling various liquids of several different colors and textures. _Probably slaves_ , Kas decided as she watched them working.

"I'll give you twenty credits for this," the chemist sniffed at her imperiously, trying his damndest to sound firm and certain. But Kastiel easily discerned his tension in his frame, somewhere between his clenched teeth and skittering eyes. He was so full of shit, and she laughed slowly towards him just for the attempt.

"You're insulting me, scientist. You don't want to do that." She watched the man drop his gaze down towards her blasters, tucked firmly against her sides. He gulped past his suddenly dry throat, adopting a properly terrified mien.  Kas grunted, "How about you give me two hundred credits, along with five thermal grenades? And I'll go ahead and leave this thing here on your table?"

The chemist nodded, sighing in relief as he realized he wasn’t about to be shot.  He turned around, waving towards one of his workers, "Of course, hunter. Tik, come here! Get this stinger properly stored. And don't touch the venom! Every drop is worth more than your useless self!"

Kastiel handled the grenades carefully, the way she always worked with the devices.  She was too familiar with the damage a mishandled grenade could cause her, at least.  But Kastiel’s head shot up when the door burst open and two Imperials actually marched into the shop.

Well, one of the Imperials seemed to be marching. Or maybe it was the way his back stayed so ramrod straight as he moved forward.  Like there was a stick stuck up his ass, maybe.  Kastiel considered asking him if he was in pain, except that the soldier following him looked practically sick.  That poor sap was sniffling, even.  He kept shooting brief frightened glances towards the officer fellow he was chasing along behind.

The officer strode towards the table until he was almost standing next to Kastiel herself, and then he plunked down a box there on the surface. The box took to twitching and hopping along the tabletop, and Mako gasped, leaning backwards away from whatever thing was inside there moving and chattering with obvious agitation.  But Kastiel only grinned as the younger soldier teared up again, and never mind how stiffly he stood there at manly attention.

The officer pointed down at the box, like his finger was a sharp blade and straight, "Get rid of this … _thing_." The officer's voice was smooth and melodic, his accent marking him the product of Imperial training galore.

Kastiel actually smiled at the curtness and tone he used, the motion of him pointing at that box. Only because his speech and demeanor reminded her achingly of her own father. That and his coloring, too, with his pale skin and dark hair. The eyes were off, though. Lucian Phyre's eyes had been dark chocolate brown, like Kastiel's own. This man's eyes were actually blue. Dark blue, Kas noted, as the officer shot her a brief, vivid glance.

"But … Lieutenant Quinn, sir …" The soldier was stammering now. Kastiel watched him trying to edge around the officer, as if to pull at the box. She wondered what the hell was in there, especially when whatever creature it was began chattering even more as it heard the soldier's voice.

"Shut. Up. Joffries. Not another word." The officer leaned toward the chemist, intent, "I am sure you have something in this shop that can manage to successfully terminate a small … animal-thing … of some kind. Correct?"

The chemist rocked back on his heels, his eyebrows raised up high in some disgust, "Are you asking me to euthanize a beast?"

"Is that not what I just said?"

The young soldier stammered again, sniffling, "You said 'terminate', Lieutenant Quinn. Might as well have told the fellow to shoot him."

Lieutenant Quinn sighed tellingly, obviously exasperated. He ignored the soldier, leaning forward slightly in intention towards the chemist, "Do you have the means of dealing with some small animal, or not?"

The chemist clicked his tongue slowly, "Work like that could prove expensive. I'd have to charge you as much for the disposal of the animal's corpse, mind you."

Kastiel almost laughed at the expression that crossed the Imperial's face. The man's soldier was openly tearful now. She leaned closer to the box, "So … what exactly is it you're looking to kill, Mr. Imperial Officer, sir? Lieutenant Quinn, right?"  Mako huffed back a sound of amusement, looking away from them when Quinn glanced towards her.

The man turned his head to regard Kastiel, his gaze skittering down her frame as he examined her armored appearance. Behind her, Mako hummed lightly to keep from laughing. Quinn murmured, "Are you interested in taking on a bounty for the beast? It's quite fearsome. Thus far, it's managed to wreck my mess, chew through several cables, and just this morning knocked over a pitcher of water that ruined a week's worth of reports on several datapads. All this before I even knew it had been smuggled into my headquarters, amazingly enough." He leaned closer, "The lost reports are what allowed me to discover it."

Kastiel couldn't help but laugh, then. Her brown eyes were dancing as she raised herself up to look down into the box, carefully pushing the lid aside to see what was inside. The officer frowned as he regarded her profile then, asked her, "Have we met before?"

Kas shook her head as she settled back down onto her feet, her eyes still twinkling with humor as she looked over at him, "You in the habit of taking out bounties against Kowakian Monkey-Lizards, then?"

"Is that what the thing is?" He sighed very dramatically.

"Yep. Highly prized by various nefarious characters throughout the galaxy. The things are highly intelligent. Probably destroyed your datapads on purpose." Kastiel raised an eyebrow at him as the monkey-lizard inside the box began chittering laughing sounds, “I don’t think he likes you, actually.”

Lieutenant Quinn shrugged, "Oh, I _have_ considered that very possibility. Which is why we're now standing here debating the thing's imminent demise." Poor Joffries broke down and started crying real tears as he took in Quinn’s obvious satisfaction over the simple chance the thing would end up dead. Kastiel saw him swiping the tears away from his face.

She shrugged, "Regardless. No, we haven't met before. Why do you ask?"

"You looked familiar for a moment." He shook his head, "Although it's not really important, I suppose. So … chemist, can you terminate the beast, or not?"

Kas leaned up against the edge of the table. She scraped the edges of her armor with her gloved fingers, examined her hand as if there might be dust there, "You do know that Kowakian Monkey-Lizards are highly prized little pets, right? You could sell it for a pretty number of credits."

Joffries almost wailed, "He cost me two thousand credits! Two thousand! It was a month's pay!"

Lieutenant Quinn sighed again, raising his chin towards the soldier, "You were probably intoxicated, Joffries. Make a note. Wasting one's pay on non-regulation creatures will only earn you the censure and discredit of your commander. Learn from this."

Kas bit her lip hard enough she nearly drew real blood. "Are there regulation creatures Joffries could have spent his pay on?"

"Yes. However, any creature that decorates the mess with the bones of the rotten fish it's consumed during the night is not considered a regulation creature of any sort."

Kastiel hummed, nodding, "Well, I'll remove the creature for you, lieutenant. No worries."

He shot her another glance, narrowed his blue eyes towards her critically, "Will you destroy it?"

"Nope. But if it helps, it will be relegated to the confines of one of the ugliest starships you've ever set your eyes on."

The chemist intruded on the transaction at that point.  He thumped his pointed finger against the table, "I do believe the officer was discussing termination fees with _me_."

Kastiel twisted her lips into a snide grin she directed towards him, wryly, "Weren't you the fellow talking about higher fees? _I'm_ a professional bounty hunter. I won't charge the lieutenant here a single credit for getting rid of this thing's corpse."

The lieutenant looked at her, his expression deadpan serious. But she could see a slight, somewhat negligible twitch of his mouth, right there at the corner. That, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. She doubted anyone else would've noted such changes to his expression, they were so minor. But she saw his amusement for what it was – pretty huge, actually. He only shrugged, openly, "As the beast has almost certainly sought to deliberately antagonize _me_ , I am quite interested in knowing it will suffer for the insult alone, actually."

"Ah, well then. You should know I will only serve it the worst sort of diet. Plenty of green, leafy vegetables. And fresh meat, nothing rotten or smelly at all." Kastiel grinned when the Monkey-Lizard made choking noises from inside the box. She thumbed over towards her companion, "Oh, and Mako here will make a point of pulling its ears at least once a day. Hard." She leaned close to the officer to whisper loudly, "They have the most sensitive ears." She nodded sagely when the box began jumping as the Monkey-Lizard became particularly agitated.

The officer hummed, then, as he glanced over at the box with satisfaction lining his attractive face, "That means its suffering will be protracted over several long and desperate months, actually. I approve." He looked at her and narrowed his eyes, "But I will not pay you."

She shrugged and settled down to haggling, "But if you don't pay me, I'll name it 'Lieutenant Quinn' and make sure to introduce it to everyone I meet."

Joffries mumbled right then. His voice was still trembling, though, "Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, to be precise."  He ducked his head down when Quinn shot him another dirty look.  Kastiel grinned slyly at them, "So be it. 'Lieutenant Malavai Quinn' will surely become a monkey-lizard of renown before too long. I'll see to it."

The lieutenant glared hard at Joffries. "You will be the one who pays for that, Joffries. Have no doubt." Then he turned back to Kas. "How much then?"

"Hmm, I suppose … two hundred credits will keep me from naming it 'Quinn'. I'll only refrain from introducing it if you pay me a hundred credits, however." The lieutenant didn't smile as he handed her a single hundred credits. She nodded with proper professionalism, "Mako, you get to carry Quinn the Monkey-Lizard back to the ship. It's been nice doing business with you, lieutenant!"

She waited until the two Imperials left the shop before she keeled over in laughter. Mako shook her head as she leaned over to mumble towards the back of Kastiel’s head, "Making fun of the most incredibly attractive man I've seen on Balmorra so far is precisely why you're still a virgin, Kas." Kastiel only rolled her eyes, though, and she never stopped laughing.

"I'd just like to see you try and pair me up with that stick-up-his-ass officer, Mako. Not in a million years!"


	19. It Won't Bite You, Mako!

Kastiel hunkered down over the heat source, rubbing wearily against the implant under her dark eye. Mako sighed as she slumped against the hard-packed dirt piled into mound next to her, considering the bounty hunter with tired eyes. The battle kept blaring across the field, loud booms and violent explosions ringing out in a terrible maelstrom of sound and percussion.  It kept their muscles tight, tense; so they stayed ready and afraid.

Kastiel began pulling meatpies from the pack she'd tucked against her side, carefully unwrapping the food and laying it against the heat source before leaning back against the pile of dirt with Mako.  Mako grimaced as she eyed the flaky crusted pies beginning to steam there on the heater in front of them, pointed wearily at them, "Where'd you get those, Kas?"

Kastiel tossed Mako a wicked grin, and shrugged, "Had them made in that little shop next to the chemist while you took Quinn-ie back to the ship."

"Oh, no."

"Hey!  They're good. I tried one while I waited for you."

" _You_ think they're good?"

Kastiel laughed.

The first time Mako attempted to consume a bit of food that Kastiel enjoyed ended with the tiny cyborg scrambling around desperately seeking some sort of water to soothe her tortured palate. They were in Kaas City at the time, sitting at the counter of a small café nearby Tobie's clinic. But that didn’t stop Mako's mad dashing around for relief. She actually knocked several patrons out of her way, even. Her shrieks were pitiful, with only a few words that managed to escape from her abused throat -- like, "Eek, hurts! … Water, water!”

The sight of Kastiel rolling in circles against the counter and laughing helplessly, did not improve Mako's humor over the fiasco. And she balefully eyed the bounty hunter now, her mistrust patently obvious, "There isn't water enough around here, Kas."

"Not needed," Kastiel chuckled as Mako poked at one of the bubbling meatpies, as if the thing would tell her what sort of spices were hidden inside. She rolled her shoulder with amusement, "I swear, Mako. It won't bite you back."

Mako hummed a sad little sound.

A loud blast suddenly echoed across the field, so that both women glanced over towards the nearby battle lines there in front of the Balmorran Arms Factory. The place was currently held by resistance forces, although Kastiel suspected there were plenty of Republic troops fighting their tails off in there as well. The combat had reduced the field around the Factory into a pockmarked checkerboard of trenches, torn-up, scraggly bushes and burnt grass, and twisted bits of metal from wrecked vehicles and transports. Kas could easily discern the looming frame of a downed starship, even.

She sighed, glancing back at Mako once again, "We don't have much time to rest, regardless. We have a stupid garbage stow to find in there." Her voice echoed with disdain for this latest venture Pirrel – or "The Idiot", as Kas had taken to calling him – that he’d set them upon.

How idiotic could a man be, to deliberately send his commanding officer on some wild goose chase to find the garbage stow Kas was going to tag with a transponder. It would be funny, Kas thought, if only she could be there to actually see the Imperials rush the ship, to discover trash was their prize.  But Kastiel couldn't quite wrap her head around Pirrel's belief this was going to work to solidify any sense of respect for himself in the eyes of Admiral Ivernus.

In Kastiel's experience, military bumbling usually resulted in a cascade effect. Mostly because balls of shit typically ended up rolling downwards. And Pirrel wasn’t sitting high enough up the incline, to warrant comfortable security when the shit started moving.

No.  The idiot was going to get his ass handed to him in a sling. Unless Ivernus was a total nitwit of an officer himself, too. Although that wasn’t so likely, either. Kas thought Ivernus stayed safely up there on his ship precisely because he was at least semi-aware there was a target emblazoned on his ass. That was the sort of prescience that indicated a level of intelligent forethought far beyond anything Pirrel had demonstrated. Probably ever.

" _Honestly, how did someone like Pirrel ever get promoted past an ensign rank?_ " Kastiel thought to herself.  She looked over at Mako just as the smaller female began tentatively biting into a meatpie. The gravy oozed out to spill down Mako's chin, so that the cyborg spent several frantic moments hissing as the heated mess stung her skin. Kastiel clucked at her, "And here I thought you'd be more careful, Mako."

Mako glared back at her, "It's really hot, dammit! You did that on purpose!"

Kas snorted, "Hey, you watched me heat the things." She reached down for a pie of her own, settling it against her knee as she carefully removed a small bottle that she shook against the food. Mako eyed the meatpie Kas raised towards her mouth, its crust now liberally marked with red spices that just promised vicious retribution to one's tastebuds.

"One of these days, you're going to have to tell me how you do that."

"Oh, that one's easy enough. I take the pie and place it into my mouth. Then I bite down using my teeth. Then …"

"Shut up, Kas. You know what I meant!"

Kastiel grinned at Mako around her meal, chewing vigorously. She glanced around the field carefully, eyeing the wavy grass for any untoward movement. They ate contentedly for several minutes, with Kas periodically motioning towards Mako's lunch with her spice bottle until Mako pointedly hid her food from the bounty hunter.

Kastiel laughed, just before an artillery shell rocketed its way towards the front of the Imperial line. A defensive burst from a nearby Imperial gun mounted atop a large troop carrier caused the shell to explode in mid-air, sending a burst of booming sound winging across the field.

Lunchtime on Balmorra. Got to love it, Kas thought.


	20. Get Out of My Way!

Vette glared at the tiny human who bumped into her as she followed along behind Lusiel. The Sith had a tendency to maintain her firm, determined stride regardless of Vette's motions, as if she often forgot Vette was even there. Not that the twi'lek ever thought for a single moment that Lusiel was ever really unaware of Vette. Lusiel was Sith enough to remain perfectly cognizant of everything happening around her.

And just like clockwork, in fact, Vette saw Lusiel up ahead turning around to frown back at Vette.  So Vette waved one of her small blue hands towards the little human, "Hey! Watch where you're going! You nearly knocked me over!" 

The human's olive-toned complexion was highlighted by a delicate arch of cybernetics across one slim eyebrow. Vette found the effect to her looks rather tantalizing. Especially when the implant went up as the little female cocked her eyebrow at her.

"More like you weren't paying much attention to where _you're_ going actually. You were watching the ass of that Sith there, in fact. Why don't you continue chasing it, and leave me alone?" The cyborg's voice was melodic, even if her words were infuriating. Vette clenched her hands, hard.

"Not much for manners, are you?"

"What, do you want me to give you a hug, too? Poor baby!"

"You metallic witch!"

"Blue-skinned freak!"

"Ever had a lightsaber stuck up your ass?"

"Ever had blasters taken to yours?" The cyborg leaned to the side, so that she could regard Vette's frame, and she laughed, "Thought so. That flat piece you call a butt seems plenty shaved."

"Argh!"

"Vette!" Vette turned to look towards Lusiel, saw the Sith standing nearby with her hands on her hips as she watched their verbal battle bemusedly.  Lusiel barked at her, "What exactly are you doing?"

"Sorry," Vette nodded at the Sith.  But she still tossed one final glare at the little cyborg. She noticed the female was carrying a pack of some sort, heard a beeping coming from inside the thing. She was about to yank at the pack, wondering suddenly if the cyborg was, in fact, some member of the local Resistance trying to smuggle some goods out of the factory.  The battle was finally winding down, with Imperials rushing in and around them as they secured the new ground they had secured.

But the cyborg was suddenly jerked back and around the armored figure of a woman bounty hunter.  Vette's eyebrows went up in surprise, even as the little cyborg yelped towards the hunter, "Hey!"

The bounty hunter ignored her, addressing Vette directly and quietly really.  She kept her back pointed towards Lusiel as she focused on Vette, "You have a Sith looking at you, twi'lek. I suggest you get a move-on, and leave my friend be." Vette regarded her consideringly for only a moment, taking in her dark-eyed gaze. The woman had implants of her own, although not so pretty as those of the little cyborg she said was her friend.

Not that ugly was word she'd ever apply to the hunter, either. Rather the opposite. There was a vivid sort of fierce beauty to her features, a thrilling quality to her gaze. Not even the scars across the side of her face that swooped down along her neck detracted from that.

Lusiel snarled another call to her just then, and Vette nodded, moving to circle the hunter so she could rejoin her Sith. The bounty hunter didn't watch her moving, though. She only spun around on her foot, rather, and pulled that slender cyborg woman behind her.  Together, they marched across the field made up of landing pads for the factory’s transports. Vette watched them going along, their dark heads weaving in and around the crates and sundry machines that seemed to mark every port Vette had ever seen.  Then Vette shrugged, falling into her normal place just behind Lusiel as she looked forward once again to killing some spy of Darth Baras' and finally getting off this bombed-out mess of a rock.

* * *

 

"Fucking twi'lek. I mean, come on! What, does she think she owns the entire damn place, here? I'm gonna mess with her on the holonet, dammit! I'll just do a few searches for a twi'lek named Vette and …"

"No, Mako!" Kastiel stopped abruptly and turned around to stare at her, her gaze firm and hard. Behind her, the transponder continued to blink against the hull of the garbage stow. Kas gripped the tool she was using to adhere the thing to the dumpster, her knuckles almost white as she clenched her fingers around the handle, "Just leave her alone."

"What? Why? If anyone deserves a swift boot in the ass, it's that little blue-skinned twit! What's the deal? She wasn't even cute!"

Kas shook her head, "I don't care about the twi'lek , Mako. Just stay off the grid where they're concerned, is all."

"They?" Mako eyes widened as she considered Kastiel, “You worried about that Sith?  Why … hey, she’s nothing to be concerned about, either. We've killed Sith before, right?"

Mako choked back her chuckle when Kas shot her an angry look. "Don't, Mako. I am not laughing, not even fucking smiling. I won’t forgive a single threat to that Sith; I'll kill anyone who tries threatening her, even. Do you understand me?"

Mako gaped, "Who is she?"

The transponder's blinking lights cast a muted glow against Kastiel's implants as she returned her attention to the hull of the ship once again.  She tapped the side of the transponder as she adhered it to the side of the stow, “My father had _five_ children, Mako.  Lusiel is the oldest one of us.”  Mako sighed a frustrated sound.

“Maybe you should make me a diagram.  Complete with lines, and names.  I’d hate to shoot someone and have you kick me in the ass over it, at least.”


	21. Just Came Up Short, Is All

Murghir jumped when Pirrel pinched her ass yet again. She clenched her jaw – yet again, yes – as she performed the requisite giggle designed to keep him happily deluded.

Honestly, the human was the sorriest piece of shit excuse for his species she'd yet come across. And she'd come across quite a few over the years. Humans tended to breed like the mammalian Hoppers that burrowed under the city-trees so prevalent on her home world. They acted much like rodents, too, she thought, just as Pirrel nipped the delicate end of her long pointed ear.  He pulled the fur there between his teeth, and she shuddered.  The fool thought it was pleasure thrilling her into shaking – which only proved just how much a fool he really was, too.

" _If only I could treat Pirrel like the target, here. If anyone deserves to be on the receiving end of a Blood Hunt, it's him_ ", she thought, longingly. But she easily obscured her real thoughts, shivering and moaning towards Pirrel.  From the corner of her eye, she saw the other bounty hunter rolling her eyes.

Murghir was surprised the hunter was so easily fooled, actually. The ruse she used to get closer to Pirrel _was_ a good one, mind you.  Her russet brown Cathar fur marked her alien, foreign and made it so that few Imperials devoted even a moment to considering her long enough to note what she was really doing.  Even heard what she _said_!

And that's precisely why she was so determined to win the Hunt.

When she won, she would win respect, the esteem of her own fellows and everyone else who watched her, judged her.  She would show them, all of them, that she was powerful, deadly and terrifying.  No one – not even some Imperial flunky on a hole-ridden world like Balmorra – would ever turn his nose up in the air as she approached.

But she worried such a deception would not work against a fellow hunter, someone watching for her or moving after the same target.  That fear kept her fur standing tall; she was certain the hunter she was up against would see right through her pose and blast her right where she stood.  It wasn’t like Pirrel would mourn her sorry corpse, either.

So when the dark-haired woman only barely noted her, only turned her nose up when Pirrel called her some "gift from a friend on Dromund Kaas" – well, it shocked Murghir. Not a single blaster was pulled out, no one shot fired.  Just that single brief, almost nonexistent glance in her direction, and then the hunter ignored her utterly.  It was so bewildering, until Murghir thought maybe the intelligence of the entire human species was actually lacking.  Or at least their foresight was dim and unimpressive.

The loud whirring sound of a shuttle's engines filled the hangar space suddenly, breaking through her thoughts.  Murghir looked up to watch as Ivernus’ shuttle coasted into the hangar before touching firmly against the floor. She bit back her crowing delight, felt her mouth going dry with anticipation.  The game was finally coming to a close, all the pieces of the puzzle finally gathering together – all these fools she'd despised over the long, endless weeks here on Balmorra.  Pirrel with his idiotic ramblings and cruel twisting pinches and the utterly bamboozled fool of a hunter who followed after his stupid plans like she was a whiny dog chasing after a stick he threw.

Gods, she hated the whole lot of them.  She even hated the silly twit of a cyborg female who followed the hunter around, Murghir thought.  She shot that small female a swift snort of disdain, saw both the women standing there nearby Pirrel. The hunter was rolling her shoulders smoothly, obviously preparing for the impending confrontation.

" _Hah, as if I'd allow the fool woman to take the prize now_ ", she sniggered to herself. This hunt was all hers to win, dammit!  There was a loud clamoring of boots resounding from the shuttle's ramp, then.

Murghir turned to watch as Admiral Ivernus appeared. The human was older, but his hair was still a rich color of deep dark brown. She might even call him attractive, considering the swatch of course hair that extended into a thick beard down his jaw and chin. But he was still human and his skin was pasty white; he was bare and ugly. Murghir sat back on her heels as the man stalked towards them, marching with that stiff, proper stance she found common to more angry, determined Imperial officers.

" _That's a man on a mission_ ," Murghir thought to herself. He certainly didn't seem happy to be there; even his scent reeked of malice and threat.  Murghir bit back a hum of pleasure, thinking that Pirrel was not going to get some reward from this one.  Not today, at least.  She certainly did not pity the fool human.  Not when her own backside was still smarting from the damn game of punishment he foisted on her the night before, fucking sadistic control freak of a human waste.

"This is it. At last. I'll get my just dues," Pirrel was murmuring to himself now. Murghir crooned, “Oh, yes. Master’s just dues!”  There was a soft snorting sound from where the hunter was standing, but Mughir didn’t look in the woman’s direction.  Only because Pirrel suddenly started oozing a litany of unctuous praises just then, and Mughir barely kept from gagging.  Pirrel was practically singing to the man, warbling, "Admiral Ivernus! This is a _singular_ honor. I can not tell you how pleased I am to wel …"

Apparently the admiral wasn't as patient as Murghir, though.  He actually interrupted Pirrel; his tone was a bitter thing, heavy with threat and the promise of some real violence even.  It quavered there in the air, like a hammer about to fall down on someone’s fat head. Murghir almost panted in anticipation of what was about to happen to Pirrel … The admiral didn’t stutter it, "Shut. Up. You incompetent fool!"

Pirrel began spluttering, "I … I beg your pardon, sir. What …? What have I done?"

"Exactly!  What _have_ you done?  You were given responsibility over Intelligence here, and yet you’ve failed at every single turn!  Colonel Sartius depended on better efforts, than anything you’ve done!"  Ivernus was nearly shaking with implicit rage, his fists clenched tightly as he leaned closer to Pirrel.

"No! I warned Colonel Sartius of the problems implicit in his strategies. But he wouldn't listen to me!"

"I told you to _shut up_ , damn you!”  Ivernus jabbed a pointed finger towards him, “You're a worthless excuse for the uniform you're wearing! The only reason I've come here is to ensure your execution!  And I’ll enjoy watching it, believe me!"

Pirrel stumbled backwards, his face turning ashen and grey. Murghir smirked as he looked around with frantic desperation, saw him catch sight of the woman bounty hunter.  Murghir studied her, too, the way she stood there watching the proceedings with a nearly bored expression on her scarred face.  She looked very close to relaxed even, with both her arms crossed loosely over her chest.  Pirrel gasped at her, "You! Bounty hunter! Tell him! Explain to the admiral what happened!"

The woman smiled then, a brief and twisted turn of her pouty lips. It made her implants glimmer in the crimson of the lights that shined down from the overheads, as she shrugged, "Give me a moment, here, Pirrel. I'm enjoying the show."  Now the admiral was startled, and he really did reach out to shove Pirrel suddenly.

Murghir realized Ivernus was beyond rage, that his anger was fast turning into alarm.  His eyes were wide and wild with fearful certainty as he stared over at the hunter, snarling against Pirrel’s side as he jerked the man back and forth, "You brought a bounty hunter, here? Are you insane? The Mandalorians want me dead, you blasted fool! They've put my name on some damn list of theirs, set their hunters on a contest for my head." He glared at Pirrel, "I'll flay you alive for this, Pirrel!"

The entire scene was so absurd, that Murghir really did laugh then.  It kept her from wondering how Ivernus was so certain he was a target of the Hunt, too.  She clicked her little claws through the air, idly waving as if she wasn’t concerned in the least, "Oh trust me, Admiral.  Pirrel is hardly capable of really thinking!"

"What in the blazes is _that_?" Ivernus pointed a long, thick finger at the Cathar, then. But the hunter was moving before he even finished the sentence, shoving Pirrel roughly and suddenly so that he literally tumbled over onto Murghir hard enough to knock her solidly off her feet.  She ended up with Pirrel sprawled on top of her in a sloppy pose fairly reminiscent of last night's escapades in his bedroom. Only this time he was bawling loudly, with real tears seeping from his pale eyes.

Murghir growled angrily. She could heard the Admiral's soldiers shouting, then the resounding pinging of blaster bolts began sizzling through the air. How did the hunter know, how did she maneuver them all into such perfect position?  As if she was aware every step they made along the course … Murghir desperately pushed against Pirrel, snarling as his sobs against her ear drowned out whatever threat she might have made.

But then she froze, gazing up at her competitor as the woman placed the barrel of her blaster against her head. "How did you know, damn you?" Murghir growled out, just loud enough to be heard over Pirrel's weeping.

The hunter canted her head sideways, shrugging, "Does it matter? I played the game better than you, is all."

"Fuck you!"

But the bounty hunter smiled at her, shaking her head. "Sorry.  That particular gambit won’t work with me, actually.  As I just recently explained to Mako, I’m not into women."  And Murghir shrieked one last time …

* * *

 

The monkey-lizard threw at piece of aluminium at her head as Kastiel entered the cargo hold through the airlock. She ducked smoothly, groaning as she raised her head to wearily regard the creature now bouncing back and forth in front of Two. The droid was whirring and twisting, trying to avoid stepping on the small animal. Kas groaned as a huge glob of snot suddenly blocked her left nostril and she raised a hand to rub against her implants.

"Does this mean you don't want this haunch of meat the café was tossing out earlier, Quinn-ie?" Kas held up a smelly leg-of-something-nasty, waving it towards the monkey-lizard. The beast stopped, staring at the rotting beef with obvious temptation making its fur stand on end.

Behind her, Mako held her nose against the smell, whining thinly. "I'm so heading to the bridge. Please, for the love of my mother -- whoever she was! -- do not bring that stuff anywhere near there!"

Kas would've laughed.  But her head was starting to pound with yet another sinus headache. So she just shrugged and smiled over at Mako, before she tossed Quinie the piece of rotting meat. Kastiel was grateful she couldn't smell anything, what with the snot still clogging her nose.  Because the way the monkey-lizard jumped onto the reeking mass of putrid meat was enough to turn the hardest stomach.  Mako gagged roughly, so that she turned to rush away up the staired ladder towards the higher levels of the ship.

Kastiel did follow behind Mako, except she veered sideways towards the small space allocated for a medical bay. More like medical _closet_ , Kas thought as she stumbled through the door. She blew her nose then, gathering the mucous together in order to properly test the sample. She leaned her head back, blinking blearily up at the ceiling as the engines thrusting under her feet rumbled steadily. Mako was carefully navigating the ship from its berth in the spaceport, and her small voice rumbling directions to the computers drifted down from the bridge.

Kastiel rubbed the back of her neck, thinking slowly as the computer in the med bay worked to identify whatever virus was causing her current symptoms. She suspected Balmorra Flu. Still, identifying the strain would help her determine the best inoculation to use, too. She wiped against her face as snot continued dripped steadily down from her nose, grimacing at the viscous smear on the back of her hand.

Kas reached over to activate the nearby holotransmitter, tapping a finger against the med bay table as Crista's image blinked into shape in front of her. The woman's overly cheerful voice boomed out, of course. Kas winced, rubbing against her implant again. Crista didn’t seem to notice, "Heya, sweet thing! Talk to me!"

"Ivernus is dead. Sending genetic confirmation now. Although I have to warn you. I'm running with a case of Balmorra Flu at the moment, so you may end up with viral samples in there, too."

Crista chuckled unsympathetically, "Yea, you're looking a mite peaked, girl. Could be the snot running down your face. That, or how you keep rubbing your face. Headache?"

Kas grumbled, "Yea, well don’t look too sad about it.  I might fool myself into thinking you care, even.”  She wiped against the lower part of her nose again, “Made for a real fun time during the fight, let me tell you.  Thought my head was turned into some fucking drum, with all those blasters going off.  Shit, let’s put together a list of rules, starting with this one – we won’t make Kastiel ever work with someone as stupid as Pirrel again, ‘kay?  Killing him almost made me cry, with how pitifully dumb he whined.  I hate when they whine!" Kastiel leaned in then, her expression as serious as she could make it considering how truly sick she was, "Crista, there was an issue…"

Crista frowned as she took in Kastiel's troubled expression. Kastiel didn’t tend towards seriousness, unless it was warranted.  Crista insisted, "What is it, girl? What's happened?"

"Crista, tell me the truth. These targets on the Hunt? They don't _know_ they're targets, right?"

"'Course not! The list is kept sealed tight! Mandoes are pretty touchy about their Hunts, trust me."

Kas shook her head and sniffed again. She heard the computer blurping as the strain of the Flu was finally identified, sniffled, "Crista, Ivernus knew he was on the list."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"That's what _he_ said. Ivernus practically shouted he was being targeted by the Mandalorians, had been listed in the Hunt."

"Kas, there's no way."

"All I'm telling you is what he said. Just … pass it along, maybe. I don't know. Seriously, my head is hurting. I'll contact you after we reach Nar Shadaa." Kastiel rubbed against her implant, running a finger up along her aching temple. She didn't notice Crista's worried expression, then. And she ignored her handler’s chirping at her as she leaned her head down in pain.

"You got a bed on that heap you call a ship, Kastiel Blade! I know, cause I have the ship schematics. Whatcha named that bad boy, by the way?"

Kas smiled wearily at her, "Hadn't thought about it, actually. But your suggestion seems the best one. 'Bad Boy' is as good as anything else.  Thing practically has balls all its own."

Crista laughed, her head thrown back with gregarious amusement, "You'll just have to get a real man on that thing sooner or later. That damn monkey-lizard don't count!" She frowned then, pointed as she warned, "Be careful, girlie. I got a lot of credits riding on you to win this thing.  Get to Nar Shaddaa."

Kastiel watched as Crista's image faded. And just in time, too.  Because Kastiel sneezed hard, loosing a stream of snot that saturated the holoterminal’s screen.


	22. Proving Himself

The shuttle rocked as its shields absorbed the blaster fire of nearby Republic fighters. Torian grunted as he lost his balance, tumbling to his knees against the back of the pilot's seat. The Imperial agent piloting the vessel cursed, jerking against the controls.

A static-laden voice emerged from the shuttle's commlink, almost tinny-sounding, "The Emperor's Fury has entered the space above Jabiim! They'll provide an escort for security. Do your best to avoid those fighters! And make for the hyperspace jump."

"What sort of escort do you think they're talking about, Torian?" Torian glanced at the young warrior asking the question, saw the way he clenched his fingers around the hilt of his vibrosword determinedly.  His breaths sounded rough and heavy behind his _beskar_ helmet.

"Not sure, Dev," Torian raised himself up to lean against the wall of the shuttle so he could look out the small viewport towards the raging firefight taking place outside. The shuttle canted sharply just then, until he nearly sprawled spread-eagle against the wall.  He bit back an angry mutter and looked out the viewport again, curious.

He realized their shuttle was actually weaving through a veritable cluster of Republic starships, through blazing streams of cannon fire from bristling turrets. As if that wasn't enough to leave him gaping, there were dozens of fighters winging after them with even more weapons firing, too.

Torian clenched his jaw angrily at the thought of dying in the belly of this measly shuttle, unable to make any sort of fight against his enemies. His fingers dug against the lip of the viewport as the shuttle shuddered again, the agents yelling at each other about the course they needed to take. That's when he noticed the other ship, an Imperial Fury-class starship smoothly winging through the maelstrom of Republic fighters and using bolts and missiles to carve a path for their shuttle towards some nebulous safety.

"Who is that?" Torian shouted towards the agents, pointing towards the ship.

"A Sith, if you can believe it! Apprenticed to Darth Zash. Here's hoping her Force abilities make for enough chance to get us through this mess, huh?"

The other agent jerked at the controls again and Torian grunted as he allowed himself to slide back down along the shuttle's walls.  Eventually he knelt down next to Dev again. The two warriors leaned against each other, waiting and balancing each other as the shuttle continued its choppy, jerky course through the fleet of Republic forces gathered outside.

Torian grinned when he saw the always-stubborn Jogo falling onto his backside on the floor. He elbowed Dev, gesturing towards their clumsy squadmate there on the other side of the shuttle. But he pretended to be studying the viewport at the front of the shuttle when Jogo cursed and looked over at him, subtly rubbing his ass. So it was Dev who chuckled at Jogo, "Shoulda found a _vod_ you could lean on, Jogo."

"I'm better a warrior than to lean on any _aru'tal_."

"Of course. That's why you're falling down, because you're such a better warrior."  Dev’s tone was heavy with sarcasm.  Jogo glared at them both, but Torian ignored the man's hostility as he continued bracing himself against Dev through the shuttle's shaking. Jogo only wanted to prove himself.

Prove himself to be better than Torian, at the least. It was Torian's tenacious skill that had proved threatening to Jogo in the weeks since he joined Vorten Fett's squad, anyway. Torian only patiently waited for the warrior's overt antagonism to fade. Until Jogo proved himself worthy enough that needling at Torian would become meaningless. Torian was determined to focus on the squad's efforts to further the goals of the _Mando'ad_ in the meantime. He'd stay still and patient. And honorable.

Jogo would make of himself what he chose. It changed nothing of Torian.

"Torian? Your face is bleeding again."

Torian glanced at Dev, shrugging, "Yea, hurts, too. Worth it."

Dev shook his head, confused. Torian grunted, leaning over as he remembered the scarification ceremony he endured on the planet they just left.

The Vunakunians used the ceremony to mark their castes, to prove their place in society. Such a determination - to show and display one's honor through bravery and blood - burned fiercely in Torian's own heart. So he asked to participate in the ceremony, even after the old men reminded him there was no place among their castes for him.

It didn't matter. It was the _Mando'ad_ that he belonged to, not anyone or anything of Vunak.

No.  Torian marked his face to show his own bravery, to bleed in sacrifice, and to remember those brave ones who went before him. To remember his mother, and Korwis, too.  And to remember _her_.

He closed his eyes. He could feel the blood sliding down along his jaw before dripping onto the floor of the shuttle. The way the blood spilled from her face and her eyes glimmered and shined with tears that refused to fall, the way her pretty lips quivered before she bit them to stop the shaking – the way she fought, the way she never gave up.

Torian rubbed along the knots holding the cloth stained with her blood he kept tied around his lower arm. He thumbed the bloodstains softly, just before raising the knotted cloth to his face and swiping his own blood away. He grunted when he saw new, fresh blood laid over the old stains.

Then the agents let out a whoop. Torian turned his head, looking towards the pilots' chairs. The two men there were cheering as the shuttle jumped into hyperspace, headed for a nearby moon where an Imperial ship was waiting to return them all to Dromund Kaas.  The sudden leap into hyperspace startled Jogo, and he yelped loud curses as he tumbled backwards onto his ass again.

Torian leaned hard against Dev, both of them finally losing control enough.  They both laughed as they stayed there against each other along the wall of the shuttle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Operation Silent Roar is one of the first space missions available to players of SWTOR. In the mission, Imperial agents have managed to obtain the details of Republic defense plans and are attempting to flee back to Imperial space. They're chased by a Republic fleet, that nearly manages to capture them in the space over the planet of Jabiim. The planet of Vunak is in the same system, by the way. A player character must successfully escort the shuttle carrying the agents to a safe place for them to jump to hyperspace in order to succeed in the mission.


	23. Who's Determined to Win?

Tarro Blood snarled angrily, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair in frustrated agitation. "How did she manage to pull it off? What is she, immortal?" He glared over at his companion, daring Sedyn Kyne to speak critically of yet another failed attempt at defeating this one particular hunter. "Everything else was falling into place, just the way we planned. And then _she_ came along! Where in the hell did this woman even come from?"

Sedyn Kyne shrugged his shoulders, watching the holoimage of the Mando warrior they'd befriended on Dromund Kaas finish extolling the most recent developments in the Hunt there over the terminal.

Of course _she_ succeeded.  The holoimaged warrior crowed over her success even, how skillfully she killed the Imperial admiral, Ivernus. And not just Ivernus.  The story was being cheered all around the clans, how she defeated his guards, some Imperial intelligence officer, and then finally the other hunter on Balmorra.  She succeeded – even after Tarro warned Ivernus of the threat!

Actually, Sedyn was thinking Tarro was more fortunate Balmorra wasn't the planet where he faced his first target, and never mind how much he complained about the boring fields so prevalent on the world where he hunted. Better to seek out a former Imperial agent hiding among farmers, than to take on _that_ bounty hunter in the middle of a war zone, Sedyn thought.

"Not sure where the woman hails from. Know she isn't _mando'ad_ , is all. Maybe we should have asked Braden before we killed him," Sedyn cocked his head thoughtfully.

"I want to know. We may need to find some new wolves that can take her on, someone with a greater interest in killing her than a couple of inexperienced fools from Corellia. You'd think revenging their brother would've been important enough to die for, at least," Tarro snarled, actually kicking against the holoterminal roughly harsh.

Sedyn murmured with curiosity, "Wonder how she talked them out of fighting. They were yelling against her when you told them she shot that Vexx gunslinger in the back on Hutta."

Tarro stomped back and forth in front of Sedyn, "I hate her, I really do. I want to see her head mounted on my wall!"  Kastiel Blade had something Tarro never did, even after his privileged background on Alderaan. None of his family's wealth had ever been able to provide him what she possessed in spades, and so simply too. He saw it when he watched her motions on Hutta -- the way she flowed like water into combat, her dark head held high as her blasters blazed and her enemies fell back from her constant motions forward.

Kastiel was one of the more natural hunters, one of them who ended up leading others along the way -- as if she were born that way and just grew up. There was a rhythm to her movement on the battlefield, something innate to her. She simply _fit_ the battle, until it belonged to her. Everyone else was simply a bump under her feet as she went along. Just minor inconveniences she easily overcame as she moved forward.

Tarro didn't want to become something she stepped on as she marched towards greatness. He wanted greatness for himself, rather.  He wanted to be able to walk into a room the way he'd seen Hedarr Soongh approach his father years past, back in his childhood home and so distant to him now. The whole place came to a stop when Hedarr came inside, all the people there turning to look at this hero -- this bounty hunter, this Mandalorian -- they whispered and chanted his name. They all watched him with bated breaths, excited and thrilled.

Tarro wanted _that_ ; he wanted to know people regarded him that way. He wanted it more than he wanted his father's lands and titles, more than he wanted the wealth that so tantalized Sedyn into following him, even.

This hunter, no matter how great she was, couldn't be allowed to rob him of the glory he'd ached for, panted after, and desired more than anything else for longer than he could really remember. Nothing would stop him from destroying her, _nothing_! No rule book, no huntmaster, no damn quaint Mandalorian code would stand in his way.

Tarro clenched his fists as he contemplated all the ways he wanted to see Kastiel broken, destroyed, and ruined. It took him several moments to realize Sedyn was talking to him, and he turned around to snap out, "What?"

"Great interest is being shown in the hunter. Several warriors are already talking about courting her, even if she were to lose or forfeit the Hunt. Warriors from clans Farr and Varad have already spoken to the Mandalore.”  Sedyn rasped with his nasally voice as he looked over the images he was compiling of the woman, “There's some rumor about warriors from Clan Ordo, as well.  One of their best _alor'ad_ has asked about her."

"You're joking? She's torn to pieces! Look at her face!" Tarro pointed at the portfolio, rolling his eyes.

"Yes. Strong woman," Sedyn twisted the soft skin inside his mouth between his teeth, chewed on his lip appraisingly. "Think of the battles she'd win, the children she'd make."

"Disgusting," Tarro almost spit, spinning around to glare at the galaxy map glimmering over the ship's console.

Sedyn shrugged.  There were times enough he remembered Tarro’s birth, more than the name he made for himself now.  He pointed towards the terminal, "She's headed to Nar Shaddaa now. The Hutts will keep her busy, there. And the target is a powerful one. If she manages to destroy him, she's sure to be tagged as one of the final contenders for the Hunt."

Tarro grunted with satisfaction, "I've already sent word to Tyresius Lokai. He was interested to learn all he could about the hunters coming for him."

"If it's discovered you have the list, that you're speaking of it to targets …" Sedyn was worried. He pulled at the thin beard covering the lower half of his face, thinking.

"That's why we have to be so careful who we speak to concerning the list, my friend. Don't worry. In the meantime, we try to find out more about where she's from, who her family is. Maybe we hunt them down, draw her away from the Hunt," Tarro smiled thinly. Just a mere twist of his narrow lips.

Sedyn shook his head, thinking it more likely Kastiel Blade would break Tarro in half for even trying. Would've been better if he tantalized the hunter with his lean frame and pretty face, convinced her to forfeit the game to him from desire or the sweetness of romance. Instead, he sought to bludgeon her into defeat.

And the only one who seemed even more determined than Tarro to win the prize and be called Champion of the Great Hunt, at least Sedyn thought -- was the lean, curvy woman winging her way towards Nar Shaddaa.


	24. Following the Hunter

_Mako huddled down behind the crates and barrels, watching the trails of dirty water itching their way down the dank gray walls flanking the spot where she hid. The blood oozing from the hole in her side probably looked like that, she thought. Was it that dirty, all murky and dark with the soot and grime of this gods-forsaken world? Had Nar Shaddaa ruined her, too?_

_Her vision blurred suddenly, as tears filled her eyes and spilled down her filth-coated cheeks, leaving clean tracks there that highlighted the olive tones of her skin. Mako squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to give vent to the sobs trying to break free, thinking desperately of how important it was to stay quiet, hidden. Even now, she could hear the shouts and calls of the men chasing her, whatever thugs the Hutts had hired to find her._

_She panted through her panic, thinking, seeing in her mind's eye the last sight of her friend, Jazz, the way his eyes went wide with shock when his throat blew apart from the force of the blaster shot._

_The job had seemed so simple, so easy. Slice into the bank's computers, find the name of the cretin stealing from the Hutt, and get paid – enough credits they'd go weeks without missing a meal, even. But the thief was one step ahead of them, using the holo to fabricate the appearance they themselves were stealing from the Hutt. And in far greater quantities than the original thief, even. By the time they realized what had happened, the Cartel was already chasing them down._

_Now Jazz was dead. The rest of her small gang was missing. She was alone. All by herself. With no one to count on. No one to save her. No one to even care, to give a rat's sorry ass if she lived or died right here in this muck-infested alley among the dregs of Nar Shaddaa._

_Mako cried silently, the tears aching their way down her face even as the blood continued to saturate her side. That's when she heard stumbling steps, interspersed with chuckles and quite a few feminine giggles. Frantically, she yanked at the garbage strewn on the ground, the stuff spilling from the crates alongside her, trying to pull it over her body and head.  Trying desperately to hide._

_"What was that?" The male voice echoed off the walls, terrifying Mako even further. She didn't have strength enough even to fight, felt desperate and lightheaded with blood loss._

_"Who cares? Rats, probably," A woman responded, plaintively. She was trying to draw the man away, get his attention focused on other business. A whore, Mako thought, recognizing the cajoling motions the woman was making. "Come on, hunter. I have better ways to spend the night. You'll love me by the time we're through."_

_The man grunted, chuckling, "Think I read that story in some old book once upon a time. You know the one - where the aging bounty hunter and the pretty whore find each other, fall in love, and fly off into the sunset to live happily ever after."_

_"I'm worth it. Trust me."_

_"We'll see. You said your place is through this alley, right? And who the hell keeps yelling?"_

_"Damn thugs been looking for someone all day. Picture they're flashing around shows some skinny kid the Cartel wants. Come on. It's this way."_

_Mako bit her lip, holding back a whimper as the wound along her hip smarted and burned. She wanted to press against it, stop the bleeding. But she was so afraid. She trembled and shook, so that the sweat making her hair damp slid down along her neck._

_And that's when the whore stepped on her, screaming._

_Mako yelped shrilly before reaching helplessly towards her side, holding the wound as burning peals of pain ripped through her all over again. She was in so much agony she barely noticed the hands pulling at her, pushing aside her own small fingers to expose the blood pooling against her cupped hand. The man was making crooning noises, trying to calm her._

_"That's her! That's the kid the Cartel is hunting for!"_

_"No shit! Why don't you shut up a moment?"_

_"Hey!"_

_"Where's your place?"_

_"You are so not bringing that piece of filth into my home, dammit! No way, don't look at me like that! You paid me for a good time, not for the Cartel to come looking for my damn head anytime soon! They want her! Do yourself a favor and give her to them, fast."_

_Mako's eyes shimmered with new tears as she gazed sorrowfully up into the lean and wrinkled visage of a stranger, a human man.  His golden-toned skin gleamed scarlet and gold in the wash of lights from the adverts flashing high over his bald head and his eyes were narrowed and dark.  Mako couldn’t hold back the most pitiful whimper she’d ever heard, and she looked down when she realized he was holding a stim against her bleeding hip. She grunted as the stim released, the kolto soothing the dreadful pain for just a moment._

_The whore snarled tightly,  "Waste of time. The Hutts will slowly and steadily rip her into little pieces. Stop bothering with this. Just leave her."_

_Mako glanced over, saw the whore, her green skin and tattooed face marking her a Mirialan. She looked back at the man when he snorted with amusement, "And here I thought you were intent on getting me to love you, too. Hey, might as well just beat it out of here. No need for you to stick around."_

_"Are you joking? You can't even screw her with all that blood all over her!"_

_Mako watched as the man's face went hard and cold. He glared dangerously over his shoulder at the whore, then, "Go. Away."_

_"Whatever. You're such a fool. They'll kill you, hunter. And it won't be easy."_

_He shrugged, waving at the whore as she scrambled into the darkness towards the end of the alley. Then he sighed, looking down at Mako's hip once again, "Not sure you're going to be in much shape to walk far, girl. Doesn't change the fact you're going to have to. Cause my carrying you will prove a red flag to every damn piece of trash running along the streets here looking for you."_

_Mako bit her lip, considering. She had no memory of anything but Nar Shaddaa. This was the only sad excuse for a home she'd ever known, in fact. Not that there was anything tying her to the place either, she thought, remembering the sad shock that filled Jazz' eyes as he died. She heard a yelling cry from somewhere nearby, one of the thugs calling out his location. And she decided to fight, to live, grunted painfully, “What’re you called?”_

_His lips twisted into a hard, cold smile as the little cyborg pushed herself to her feet, “I’m Braden. Come on, then.” He glanced back towards the opening of the alley, even as he reached for his jacket and pulled it loose from his shoulders. He tucked the garment around the little female, watching it drape low to cover her bloody clothes before pulling the hood up to cover her dark head. He grunted, satisfied as even the twinkle of her implants disappeared from sight, "Let's get out of here."_

_She looked up at him, her eyes dull with pain and fatigue, "Why?"_

_He grunted, "You remind me of someone. She helped me once, when she didn’t really have to.  Always liked her."_

_Mako nodded then, "Okay, then. I'm Mako."_

_"Good to meet you. But let’s do it as we're walking along, too. We can't stay here."_

_Can't stay, she thought. She watched as he turned to amble in supposed nonchalance towards the front of the alley, pretending, putting on a show for the thugs watching for her. She thought over the course of her life, at all she'd done, the things she'd seen. She thought of opportunities lost, credits stolen, lives taken away. Then she lifted her chin._

_And she followed the bounty hunter._


	25. Buying Presents

Kastiel used to think the cacophony of sound coming through her implants was a painful burden. But Nar Shaddaa always reminded her sight could prove just as debilitating sometimes. She leaned her head sideways, thoughtfully considering the materials she needed to gather before producing new supplies of her regular migraine medications.  The glaring and blinking monstrosity of lights all around the planet would just have to be endured in the meantime, damn it to hells.

Kastiel’s head felt like great blocks of pounding weight were steadily beating against the inside of her skull as she looked around for Mako, saw the small cyborg standing near a vendor who's table was propped against a wall in one of the dirtier corners of the Promenade. Kas ambled closer, listening as the two argued over the scavenged … stuff the vendor – with his pretty pale green skin – was waving his pod-fingered hands over on the tabletop.  His antenna were bopping crazily on top of his amphibious-looking head in abject agitation.

Mako pointed down at a shiny piece of metal. To Kastiel, it looked like nothing more spectacular than a box. Heck, there wasn't even some pretty markings on the thing. Kas idly wondered what it contained, that Mako wanted it so much.

"Hah! Don't even try to fool me! I know this score! That's a data library, probably belongs to one of the Hutts here on planet. If they find you with it …" Mako sneered at the Rodian, ignoring his echoing gibbering sounds as he took to almost jumping up and down in place.

"You're threatening me! I'm telling you, it's nothing more than a bit of trash I found in a bin, down on one of the lower levels of the Industrial sector. Just junk!  Someone's stupid shopping list, probably!"

"Good! Then you can let go of it for twenty credits!"

"What it actually contains isn’t important!  You can use it to hold your own information, though! That makes its worth more. I won't take less than five hundred credits!"

"Fucking thief! Seventy-five, and not one credit more!"

Kastiel stepped up next to Mako, staring down at the item in question. She didn't say anything to Mako as she handed the Rodian the sum he was practically bouncing up and down over. Mako snarled as the Rodian laughed and began wrapping the data library into some bright, shiny paper. Kastiel frowned as the paper simply reflected the vivid lights from overhead, wearily rubbing her forehead.

Mako puckered her brow as she noted the telling sign of pain on the hunter’s face, hummed low under her breath sideways, "Headache?"

Kastiel nodded, accepting the package from the vendor. She smiled large at the Rodian, just before turning to make a dazzling show with the thing.  She bowed low and sang out loudly, holding out the gaily wrapped parcel, "Mako!  I got you a present!  Straight from the trash of Nar Shaddaa, a pure sign of just how much I adore you!  Please, take it away from me!"  The Rodian chortled on the other side of the table.

Mako laughed, "You're insane, Kas.  You know that?"

Kastiel gasped dramatically, "Does that mean you're rejecting this fine piece of artistic wrapping? This glorious paper! All concealing a most marvelous … box? Truly?"

"Gods, stop! I won't be able to stop laughing!" Mako giggled as she took the article from Kas, smoothly tucking it into her pack. She flipped a jaunty and rather crude gesture towards the Rodian, before turning to follow the bounty hunter off the lower Promenade towards the taxi, "You do realize you have to at least pretend to be a big, bad, mean bounty hunter, right?"

Kas snorted, "As long as I have big, bad, mean blasters, I think my reputation’s safe enough."

"Is that why you wiggled your hips at that Republic trooper over there?"

"That Cathar?”  Kas made a long raspberry sound through her pursed lips, “Did you see him baring his fangs at me? I wanted him to know I won’t take his shit so seriously, is all."

"Maybe he was flirting, not threatening."

Kastiel shrugged, "What, like I'd be interested in stroking his furry butt? Not that he was, either. Cathar and hunters don't go hand in hand, Mako. You know that. I think Cathar see every hunter as a would-be Mando, and they hate Mandoes. Not surprisingly."

"Maybe. But their world's long since recovered, too. They shouldn't hold a grudge."

"Why not?  Worse things, than kitty cats hissing at us.”  She turned on the heel of her boot and continued idly walking along, pondering, “I figure they’ll hate me even more when I win the fancy title.  Doesn’t change anything that happened to their world.”

Mako was quiet as they walked along, grateful to be thinking of anything other than the fact they were on Nar Shaddaa. She hated Nar Shaddaa. She could almost feel the stench of the planet eeking its way into her pores once again. She'd be beyond grateful when they were done here, so she calmly sighed, "Well, it's not like you're actually a Mandalorian, either."

"Not yet."

Mako glanced at Kastiel, "Is that what you want? To be a Mando?"

Kastiel stopped, turning to face her small companion. Her dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face for just a moment.  But not her eyes.  The brown of her gaze was shadowed, dark in her face as she remembered.  Shadows lurked there, and Mako squirmed as she watched her. 

But Kastiel spoke firmly enough when she answered, "Mandoes saved me once. They were tough, strong. They destroyed the sons of bitches who killed my mother, and they did it without even breaking a sweat. Then they picked me up and carried me miles when others would've left me to die."  She looked away, "Yea, Mako. I want that … to be a part of that, to belong to it. I want it, so that my enemies will stop to think twice before threatening me ever again."

They began walking again, Mako almost trotting alongside her more long-legged friend. Neither one of them said much for several moments. It didn't take long, though, and Kas smiled as Mako finally broke the silence.  Mako trilled, "Well, that just means we need to keep busting asses, huh?"

"Plan's been working out pretty well so far, yea."


	26. The Enemy of My Enemy

Anuli rubbed his stomach as it twisted and knotted painfully, the hunger cramps pulling viciously at his overly thin frame. Not that he wasn't accustomed to those sorts of pangs, either.

His prostitute mother had barely expelled him into the dank environs of Nar Shaddaa before she was done with him. Anuli figured he was lucky enough she did that much; luckier that another one of the prostitutes bothered carrying his tiny, squalling bit of baby-self to one of the charity houses the Hutts permitted to remain in the lower levels of the city planet. But even there, food was a precious commodity and one he scrapped with the other kids to keep hold of, most often.

Charity only went so far on Nar Shadda, anyway. That was the lesson he learned the most fast, to avoid counting on much in terms of gift or gratitude. People let you down, they disappointed you. That was the rule. Not any different.

So he turned out overly small, what with losing out on so many decent meals during his growing years. But he was sharply intelligent, enough to nab a good spot in Gele’ren’s brief organization. And Gele’ren was a good boss, didn’t make it a point of bashing him around, even. Even kept others from “busting on his investment”. So he certainly didn’t withhold food. Crap, Gele’ren had a personal affront when it came to any kind of hunger; tended far more towards gluttonous appreciation for food and women alike.

But Anuli was a real money-maker for Gele’ren. His skills as a cybernetic slicer were pretty well-established by the time he’d met a dozen years, even well before he outgrew the pickpocket scams common on the Promenade. So the boss made sure his needs were seen to, or heads rolled. Not literally, mind you. But Gele’ren really wasn’t afraid to make a point, with pointy implements in fact.

Nah, it was only common for Anuli to forget to eat, whenever he was sunk deep in the guts of whatever computer system Gele'ren asked him to root around inside of. And tracking Gele’ren’s trade dispute with Halidrell Setsyn monopolized pretty much all of Anuli's attention lately, enough that when he raised his head wearily above his monitors and tried figuring out what noise was bothering him he realized it was two days since he last shoveled some food into his stomach. And the organ was complaining pretty dang loud.

Now Anuli meandered through the club's kitchen as he slowly made his way to Gele'ren's office. He snatched up a hot sandwich from off a plate left steaming at the table before it was served to whatever customer ordered the thing out front. The cook yelled at him as he scooted out the door, but the gravy from the thick meat in the sandwich was already spilling down his lean chin. He laughed and waved back at the man as he went, then concentrated on finishing the food as he walked along, fast like always.

But the closer Anuli got to the office, the more clear Gele’ren’s yelling was. The fact he could actually hear the twi’lek’s angry shouts even through the closed doors was worth worrying about, at least. Anuli frowned, swallowing the last bite of his sandwich so fast he didn’t even taste it.

Anuli knew Gele'ren wasn’t in much mood past getting Halidrell Setsyn out of his thick head tails. He figured that’s why his boss was in there yelling up a storm. What was left of the muscle Gele'ren sent to antagonize the woman actually staggered back into the club clutching their own shattered bones and dragging along several bleeding bodies, rather than a single bloody strand of Halidrell’s hair. They tried playing off the failure, of course. Practically sang loud stories about dozens of Sith who battled them fiercely over the floor of Setsyn’s shop. But Anuli managed a better look at the real story, when he snagged video commlinks from one of the dead men.

Only thing they said true, was that a Sith was involved. One of them, at least. Anuli watched the video several times, with morbid fascination. Not the least because the Sith was so blasted small. And female, to boot. He never really heard much stories about women Sith; the tales always described massive monsters of men who snarled and battered their foes using powers beyond normal kenning. The Sith Anuli watched on the video, though, was more attractive than scary-looking. With thickly black hair and big brown eyes set in the most prettily curved face.

Then she started swinging that big red glowing stick of hers, and Anuli shuddered in the safety of his seat only watching her. Anuli still couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the Sith as the stories told them, as monsters, brutes, out to utterly dominate everything and everyone in their path. But he saw enough watching the pretty woman destroy Gele’ren’s hirelings, to know he didn’t ever want to piss off a single Sith. Pretty, or otherwise.

Now Halidrell Setsyn might be just stupid enough to involve herself in some sort of Sith dispute. Bully for her, is what Anuli finally told Gele’ren. Sith weren’t known for being over-kind to the people they regarded as subservient tools, no matter how useful they were. Halidrell would probably end up just as sad and destroyed as anyone else, before the game that brought the pretty Sith to Nar Shaddaa was done. Better for Gele’ren to ensure his own head-tails weren’t involved in any of that nonsense. All it took was patience, really. And then they could move in on Halidrell’s business.

He pushed open the doors with one small hand, rubbing the gravy off his chin as he entered the room. The yelling had stopped. Anuli could see Gele'ren across the office, frowning as he talked heatedly to an armored woman standing nonchalantly in front of him, her back to the door. The woman's small, darker companion glanced back at sound of the door opening, but Anuli lost sight of them when one of Gele'ren's thugs pushed him aside to stumble towards the door, "Move it, kid. First Sith. Now it's the Eidolon. This is crazy."

Anuli gaped, watching as the men rushed out of the room as fast as their whipped bodies allowed them to move. Then he turned back, carefully straining to hear whatever Gele'ren was talking about. He moved closer, saw Gele'ren glance over and see him. The twi'lek waved a chubby hand towards him, motioning him forward.

"…But then, at the top of his game, the Eidolon announces he's quitting the assassination business. He's going to open up his own security company, he says. Next thing you know, half the companies, here, are clients of damn Eidolon Security! And they're not paying the Hutts anymore, either. Fucking crazy, I'm telling you."

Anuli grunted as he stepped close enough, "Gere'len, did you make up your mind about Setsyn, then …?”

"Anuli?"

Anuli frowned, spinning his head around when he heard the familiar voice, felt the shock of it when he saw her. “Mako! What the hell!” It was Mako he followed when he left the charity house, her example he emulated when he accepted his first implants. She taught him more than anyone else how to manipulate a computer system - how to tease it to get it “singing its secrets” to him the way she showed. Mako! Who practically lit up his scary world, before she was suddenly gone: "Mako? But …? You're dead! I thought you were dead! Those Rodian brothers caught you, they said so!"

Mako nodded back at him, her eyes dim and shadowed with pained memories, "Yea, they killed Jazz. Remember him? And I took a shot in the hip. So I hid. But a hunter found me. You'd think he would've done off with me. Except he saved me, Anuli! He was … a good friend. And I'm still following hunters today, go figure."

Mako waved a hand to take in the woman standing silently next to her, watching them. Mako introduced her, “This is Kas. She’s good stuff, but don’t make some big point of challenging her, either.” Anuli frowned as he glanced at the armored figure, studied her carefully.

She was obviously a hunter. Her armor stretched across her torso and legs, smoothly encasing her curves behind tough leathers and some solid-looking durasteel. She watched them with large brown eyes that gleamed over an arching slash of cybernetics looping up along her cheekbones towards her ears. Her hair was dark, black. Ebony would perhaps be a better word. It skittered against her shoulders and fell forward alongside her pale, creamy-fleshed face. And there were more scars there, too. They stretched across the left side of her face and slashed down along her neck.

But somehow she was just _beautiful_. Anuli couldn’t quite say what it was, that tantalized his senses. Maybe it was the quiet, slow look in her eyes, the way they shined with intellect and keen determination and pure interest all at the same time. The scars and implants just made her look that much more deadly, too. Like purest safety, like getting through her or past her was a fight you so didn’t want to make. She even held two blasters on the belt that circled her slender waist. Took pure skill to fight using two blasters at once. Anuli practically added a checkmark to the small, brief note in his mind, called the mental list “People You Should Keep Happy”. Anuli wasn’t keen on testing the limits of this hunter’s capability, at least.

"So you two know each other, Mako?" The hunter asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Oh, yea. We grew up together, mostly on the streets. He's like a little brother."

The hunter nodded, as if that was enough to categorize and appreciate Anuli’s value. Not what he could do for her. But that one word, that one “brother” which Mako used was enough for Kastiel to decide Anuli wasn’t someone you give up on. Anuli frowned at the both of them, though.

"I'm not little!" Anuli rocked back on the heels of his feet, determined to prove himself. Never mind how skinny and grimy from lack of a good wash he was feeling right then. Least his stomach was full.

The hunter smiled, her dark eyes seeming to glint with real humor. It wasn’t mean, though. She only nodded at him, "Obviously, yea."

Gele'ren snorted suddenly, breaking through the comfortable conversation. He drawled loudly, "Right. Look this is all real touching. I'll even cry into my pillow tonight thinking of it. But can we break up the reunion to get back to business right now? You said you were gonna kill the Eidolon."

Anuli spluttered hard enough part of his sandwich lodged somewhere inside, just above his stomach it felt like. That’s how he would like to explain the sour feeling, at least. He stammered aloud, "The Eidolon? Mako, that's crazy. I mean, I've seen plenty of crazy. Probably heard crazier, even. But that's seriously real crazy!”

Kastiel grunted, shrugging, "I have a job to do. And I'm good at my work."

"Yea. Well, so's the Eidolon. He was a professinal assassin for most of his life. A damn good one." Gere'len snorted again, "’Sides. You'll have to draw him out of his hidey hole first-off. Which wouldn't be so bad a thing to watch, mind you. Seriously, though, if you hurt his company, blow up some of his clients, or something – well, then, he'll come looking for you." The twi'lek leaned his pudgy self forward, "But hey. If you're as good as you say that won't be a problem."

The hunter smirked: "Who's his best client?"


	27. Get Off Me!

Mako pushed the plate away. "I'm not going to eat anything you ordered, Kas!"

"Coward."

"When it comes to the food you like? Oh, yea, that's so me. Scared shitless."

Kastiel snorted as she used the last bit of soaked mustafarian toast on her plate to shovel bits of stew into her mouth. "It's just chuba stew, Mako. Boring, even. There's no kick to it at all."

"Right. Whatever." Mako shook her head as she nibbled on some toast, "Besides Anuli snatched me a sandwich earlier tonight. He's good about not burning my mouth to cinders with spices."

Kas tossed a bit of chuba meat down towards her monkey-lizard, cooing at the beast. Quinnie chirped back at her. "Anuli is protective of you, huh? Careful, Mako! You're not going to be able to get rid of him if you let him feed you!"

"Anuli? That's so disgusting! He's like my little brother," Mako shuddered. But Kas only laughed. Mako shook her head at the hunter. She waited as Kas resumed eating, chewing her lip. "Speaking of Anuli …" Kastiel looked over at Mako, raising a dark eyebrow questioningly. Mako sighed and shrugged slightly as she glanced away. She had been aching to pose the possibility to Kastiel throughout the day, following along behind as the bounty hunter methodically trashed the Republic offices and storage facilities that Eidolon Security supposedly kept safe.

The inferno they left behind was really pretty spectacular, Mako thought. Although part of Mako's amused enjoyment  was won watching the civilian personnel Kastiel sent scampering out of the doors before setting the place to flaming glory, too.  Mako figured killing a bunch of minor civvies wasn’t so much fun, really.

"What about Anuli?"  Kastiel asked the question around another bite of stew, softly wiping the corner of her mouth where some small drop of gravy clung tenaciously as she consumed the food.  Mako watched her and fidgeted in her seat, swallowing slowly. It was her knowledge of the Trandoshan target on Hutta she used to convince Kastiel to get her off that planet.  This time she didn’t have some prize to give the hunter.  But really.  Kas wasn’t some mere hunter anymore, not truly.  They were sort of friends, too.  Right?  Hey! Maybe if she agreed to eat some of the food … Mako eyed the chuba stew on the plate that Kastiel was pushing away, and she cringed.

Kastiel frowned over at her, "Mako?"

Mako drew in a slow breath, gathering herself, "There's no reason for you to agree, actually. But …" The little cyborg grimaced, turning a pleading gaze towards Kastiel as she started talking so fast the words seemed like water drops spilling loose from a faucet in the refresher: "Do you think we can take Anuli with us when we leave Nar Shaddaa?"

Kas raised her eyebrows in something like surprise, sitting back against the bench seat where they were perched as she finished chewing her food. She dipped her head then, thoughtfully considering what it would take to win the young human from that fat twi'lek boss of his and then support him on board the Bad Boy.  Although Anuli didn't seem to require much in the way of sustenance, either.  Considering how scrawny he was, at least.  The real problem lay in the deal she'd have to finangle with Gele'ren, is all.  Kastiel prodded a corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue, murmured, "We can't save everyone, Mako, you know that. Still, I don't see why your little boyfriend can't tag along, either."

Mako felt such a tremendous sense of relief that she almost didn't notice Kastiel's joke. She actually guffawed a happy sound even, singing out, "He's not my boyfriend, dammit! But … thank you!"  Kastiel grinned as Mako almost danced in her seat.  Then a strident screeching yelp caught their attention.

"What? Hey! Give that back, you … rat thing! Ah, shit!"

The two women spun around. Just in time to see Quinnie leaping high up onto the head of an armored man, who proceeded to spin out of his seat trying to yank the monkey-lizard loose from the grip it had on his dark, braided hair. The man began a wild sort of dance, shouting in pain and angry upset as Quinnie dug the claws of one of his small paws into the soft flesh of his scalp. Kas could just make out the prize the monkey-lizard was waving around in his other paw, too.  Some bit of nerf beef yanked from the middle of the man's sandwich, maybe.  In a place like this, you just never knew about the meat.

Kastiel leaned back against the counter where the remains of her meal still rested, chuckling as she watched the spectacle. The crowd pressing into the tiny eatery there on the lower Promenade cheered and howled as the monkey-lizard rode the human's head, holding tight to the tendrils of his hair and looking like a crazed nerfherder riding a maddened bull while the man jumped and leaped in circles around a chair. Kastiel leaned over, smirking, "Mako, please tell me you're recording this."

Mako laughed, "You're joking, right? You know me!"

Kas grinned at her. Then she turned around, slowly dragging her feet before whistling sharply, "Quinnie! Knock it off!" She laughed as the crowd took to groaning in disappointment when the monkey-lizard jumped down off the human’s head and neatly skirted his stomping boots on the floor. The little animal trotted towards Kastiel and wrapped itself around her leg so that she was able to pat the scruffy fur along the top of its little head.

"Damn you, you monster! Come back here and meet Flashy! You'll get along so well, trust me!" The human shook his head so that his black, braided hair stood up straight on end. He was holding a lean blaster against his side, spinning around trying to find Quinnie. He looked towards the corner where Kas and Mako were standing and spotted the monkey-lizard holding onto Kastiel’s armored knee. Then he pointed stridently, "There it is!"

Kastiel shook her head, watching the man start to stomp towards them. But then another man’s voice rose up over the crowd's exclamations and he stumbled to a stop: "Corso! Honestly, is a piece of beef really worth all this effort? Although if you can do it again, that would be great! I didn't really get the chance to get it on vid, dammit!"

The human - Corso? – he snarled aside towards the speaker, glaring over at him as he held up a single bloody finger, "Not funny, captain! I'm bleeding, here!  See this?"

Kastiel shrugged. "I'll fix your head quick enough, if you'll just stop and calm down. And don't go shooting my monkey-lizard! Someone paid me good money to get him off Balmorra!"

"Paid you? What, it tortured someone else?"

Kas nodded, "Yep. Not sure that Imperial is ever going to forgive him for it, either."

"An Imperial? Well." Corso looked down at Quinnie, scowling as the little beastie giggled up at him from his perch on Kastiel’s boot, "Did it at least rip _his_ hair out, too?"

"You have plenty of hair left, Corso. Shit! Don't know what you're so worried about. It's still longer than mine!" Kastiel froze when Corso's captain finally ambled close enough she could see him.  He was smiling widely as he yanked against Corso’s black braids, bending Corso's head sideways to judge the damage for himself. Mako stepped closer to them both, too, clucking her tongue.  But Kastiel only stared at the handsome, grinning captain.

"Let me see. Think he got you there, right alongside your temple.  Real gouge mark, ouch," the captain was murmuring as he leaned closer to Corso’s head.  Corso was seemingly fixated on Mako as she reached out to wipe a small olive-skinned hand against his forehead, fingering the small, bloody wound there. He gawped, sliding his gaze down her slim frame as he breathed roughly. Then he gulped and shot a triumphant look at the captain, “Hey! Told you so! Thing almost tore me apart!"

The young captain rolled his eyes with deliberate slowness, "Yea, right. My heart’s fucking bleeding over here. Seriously. Can't you tell?" Corso shrugged, intending to ignore the captain in favor of Mako’s attention.  But that’s when Kastiel suddenly broke loose from her frozen preoccupied stare and reached out to grab the collar of the captain’s jacket, spinning him around to face her so that she could judge him better, ignoring his yelping cry, “Hey!  Let go, wench!”

Kastiel’s dark brown eyes moved over his features quickly. And she snarled at him, "Who’re you?"

The captain glared, "I said.  Let.  Go.”

"I asked you a question!"

"And I told you to fucking let go of me!"

Mako stared at them both, stunned. Corso raised his eyebrows, watching the bounty hunter push and pull against his captain.  But she didn't let him loose, either, just examined him like he was some kind of bug under a medical scope, maybe. The female hunter smirked at the smuggler, “You think you're going to win this little game, captain?"  Corso grunted at her, “Hey, he always does.  Believe me.”

The captain sighed, "Dammit, Corso! Get her off me!"

"Hey, I distinctly remember you laughing when that rodent thing was tearing me apart."

"I so did _not_!"

"Nerf-shit!  I saw you, right over there!"

The captain snorted at him angrily, opening his mouth as if he would continue the back and forth argument quite happily for some while longer.  But then he froze, staring back at Kastiel when she suddenly leaned closer, looming up into his face as she demanded quietly. "Gaib? Is it you, Gaibriel? Damn me. Gaib, I’ve been looking for you for so gods-damned long a time." The captain stopped, blinking at her, at every bit and turn of her face.  His eyes turned wide and surprised, brilliantly blue and glittering as he lifted a hand, smoothed his fingers along the scars that lined Kastiel’s jaw where they were most thick, up along the curve of her face just under her ear.  He pushed her hair back to see her face better, even.

His breath hitched roughly, "Kastiel? I thought … Gods!  I thought you were dead, Kassie."

Then Kas glanced to her side, taking in the presence of the eatery's customers crowding them, the curious looks they were getting.  Mako crowded closer and whispered low enough that Gaibriel never would’ve heard except he stood so close to Kastiel just then, "Kas? Is he important? Like the other one?" The bounty hunter nodded, even as the dark-haired captain barked roughly, “ _What_ other one?” Then she yanked the captain hard, pulling him towards the door and ignoring his exclaiming calls against being manhandled.  Mako rushed to follow them, her small feet making swift padding motions as she went.

Corso trotted after the group. But he snarled when the monkey-lizard jumped up onto his back and held on, "Oh, hells!  No way! Get off of me!" The damned beastie only chittered gleefully, though, and held tightly to the piping on the backside of Corso’s armor.  He snarled meanly but ultimately ignored the little creature. 

It only seemed more important right then to retrieve his captain from obviously crazed mercenaries, all of a sudden.  Their brutal little fiend included, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Gaib's my Main in the end-game, and I adore him! I've played Smugglers over and over, all the way from the days of the Beta release of SWTOR and successfully completed the story on multiple characters, advanced classes, and both genders. That's why when I originally completed my Warrior's fanfiction story, I left it to a vote of those readers to determine which one of my Smugglers would become Kastiel's younger sibling, and Gaibriel won only narrowly. Quite a few were very interested in how I would interpret a Corso romance, anyway. I made up for their disappointment by eventually describing romances for both Gaib and Corso, too.


	28. Off to Work We Go!

_It had no name when it approached the clans and asked that it might join the Hunt. It was actually obsolete, in fact. Little more than a construction droid long since fallen from desired use._

_But it adamantly proclaimed itself capable and honorable. And the Huntmaster ultimately accepted the droid's petition, allowing the machine to compete. When the droid succeeded, though - taking every target and defeating every one of its rivals. Well, then questions rose up, considerations what it might mean for a droid to be called the Grand Champion. That's when calls and arguments came fast and hard._

_Ressian Trana was the Mandalorian who went far enough as to denounce the droid's honor. He yelled the insult, even. He shouted out loud enough to send the sound winging out over the gathering of warriors there in the wide, yawning grand hall that overlooked the streets far below, "The only good a droid serves is for melting down into blades or fodder. They possess no honor, can show no honor! And there is no honor in saying different!" That’s when the droid finally responded._

_It spun out, sending a quick kick of its spindly mechanical leg at the red-faced Mando and caught him in the very center of his chest. Ressian Trana flew back from the force of the blow - flying through the plated glass of a nearby window, where he tumbled down the long fifteen stories to far ground below._

_To his credit, Ressian Trana didn't scream as he died. And no one else among the gathered Mandalorian warriors ever again questioned the Grand Champion's honor._

_That's how the Defenestrator earned not only his title. But he won his name, too._

* * *

 

"So tell me the truth, Kas. How many brothers do you have scattered around the galaxy?" Mako prodded and she grinned widely when the bounty hunter glanced back at her from over her shoulder. They were moving steadily through one of the more dangerous sections of Nar Shaddaa. Dark, silent warehouses rose above their heads on either side of the way. Mako concentrated more on the conversation than the bodies of the pitiful gang members who now littered their path.

"I sincerely hope you're not asking out of some inner desire to get to really know either one of them, Mako," Kastiel snorted softly at her. Neither one of her brothers should be foisted on her little cyborg of a friend, she thought. For varied reasons, mind you. Kastiel frowned as she considered yet again what she’d learned of her younger smuggler of a brother just these past days.

"So it's two, then, huh? Two brothers?" Mako was still smirking merrily there behind her.

Kastiel grumbled towards her, "Not like we can go around announcing it. Which is why I wish you'd drop it."

Mako chuckled softly. She shrugged her slender shoulder lightly, "Yea, not sure how the Mandalorians would feel knowing that one of your brothers basically works for the Republic. Wonder how that’s gonna work, mind you. One on either side, I mean."

Kas stopped, crossing her arms over her chest as she thought, frowning, "Gaib doesn't bear the Pubs any real loyalty. Anymore than I'm really loyal to the Empire."

"Sure thing,” Mako nodded. “But you have to admit, it's not like the Empire would welcome him with open arms, either. You'd probably be arrested if you went into Republic space, too."

"Debatable," Kas snorted as she resumed her search for the supposedly abandoned warehouse that Anuli had described to them earlier.

Mako's description of Ughnaut contestants in the last Hunt had sparked enough of her interest she opted to search out the warehouse receiving large shipments of expensive machinery recently. Not like droids acting in the Great Hunt was so much out of hand. The Defenestrator performed well in his own turn at the Hunt. Best to ferret out another den of droid contestents, she figured. Ugnaught engineering or not, mind you.

Before their droid shot her face off, would be best. She had scars enough already.

"What I can't understand is how one of your brothers ends up working for Imperial Intelligence – and those guys are schizos, by the way – and the other one regularly docks his spiffy freighter in Coruscant's spaceport,” Mako sounded curious as she kept poking the issue.

"Khyriel's mother wasn't mine." Kas pointed to her implants, "It's thanks to her I have these. And that Gaibriel ended up in a freighter on the other side of the galaxy. Fun story, that."

"Are you serious?" Mako shook her head, "I figured my own family was whacked. I mean, what else can you say about people who put a computer in their kid's head. But that's crazy."

Kas shrugged, dropping her head back to look up at the wide, damp wall that loomed over their head. Even down here in the warehouse section of Nar Shaddaa, there were blinking advertisements everywhere she looked. Helped her catch sight of the identification plates on the varied buildings, at least.

She explained as she stepped along, "Remember that admiral, back on Dromund Kaas? You work with the Empire you have, not the one you wish you had." Kastiel stopped again, her dark head canted thoughtfully as she added, "My father was an Imperial hero, Mako. He visited us whenever he could, still dressed up all fancy in that uniform of his and he always told us how glorious the Empire he fought for really was. He loved it, would’ve died for it and been glad." She sighed, "But he never saw our future as belonging to the Empire, either. Always wondered if he knew things would work different for us, really."

Mako shook her head, sniffing, "He was selfish."

"Maybe. Still. I miss him."

Mako watched as Kastiel glanced around the corner of a building, humming happily as she caught sight of the doorway that lead into the warehouse they were looking for. Anuli told them this warehouse was receiving deliveries of machine parts not necessarily common in this part of section of the city. And even during this late hour, lights flickered brightly through the brief openings that counted for windows against the side of the structure. Kastiel was pleased enough she actually smiled.

"Don't imagine your father thought his son's future would've been smuggling goods for the Republic he fought against."

Kastiel's tone was sullen then, "My father was killed still wondering if Gaibriel had even survived the attack that fucked up my hearing and ripped my face to pieces. Not sure he would've given a rat's ass if Gaib actually ended up wearing some Pub uniform, waving some stupid flag and chanting about dumb-assed freedom. Just so long as he knew Gaib was still alive by the time it was all done.” Kastiel sighed, “Leastwise, Gaib was strong enough. Can't think there are too many who would've made it through what he described to me." Then she glanced back at Mako, frowning at her, "You like Gaibriel? He seemed friendly enough."

Mako shook her head, "Friendly with just about every one of the women we passed, too. Not sure he liked the way you were pulling him around by his collar, though. Sort of ruined his overall demeanor, don't you think?"

"He's my _little_ brother. Best he remember that makes me the one in charge."

"Yea. I can just see how that’s gonna work out."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Me? With you? Nah!"

Kas chuckled as she bent over to examine the lining of her armor where it covered her shin, preparing for the fight ahead. Mako hummed, "Besides. I don't think I could have any sort of thing with a brother of yours. That's just … weird for some reason."

"Yea, you seemed a bit more interested in that other one. Corso. Bonus, too, cause Quinnie liked him."

Mako bit her lip and looked away, adopting some duly proper expression all of a sudden. It’s why she missed the telling grin that twisted Kastiel’s lip as she glanced up at her from her steady examination of her armored coverings. Mako only sniffed off-handedly, "Corso was nice enough, at least."

"Oh, yea. Nice. He couldn't even threaten us without tipping his chin respectfully and saying 'Ma'am' every time he looked our way."

"We could all do with a little more politeness and civility around here," Mako chewed on her lip, thinking about the mercenary soldier running along with Kastiel's incorrigible smuggler brother. Corso was unfailingly sweet throughout the long hours they spent with the two men hunkered over a table in a private room of a nearby cantina. He even stopped fighting with Quinnie long enough to catch her when she stumbled to keep up with Kastiel as the hunter yanked Gaibriel along the Promenade. The gesture surprised the little cyborg. Few men in her experience even noticed her, let alone stopped long enough to take care of her.

"Oh, yea. Civility. Sure."

Mako jerked her attention back to Kastiel, watched her methodically check over the blaster she yanked loose from its holster. Kas thumbed the weapon's settings and eyed its power pack carefully. Then she held the thing up, looking down the length of its barrel. Mako scowled when Kas shot her a twisted grin.

"You're awful. You know that, too," Mako snorted.

"Hey, if it's civility you're looking for, it ain't here … Guess you really do need a Republic-loving soldier to call your own," Kastiel shrugged, smirking at her friend. Then she ducked around the corner. Mako sighed towards her back as she followed.

* * *

 

Kastiel bowed her head slightly, greeting the short-figured, porcine Ugnaught leader.

She recognized the thing's squeals, as it snorted commands to its fellows working over a pile of mechanical parts all gathered together into a rather sophisticated-looking pile of machinery. It was too high-pitched a language for her to reproduce. She ranked it right up there with Shyriiwook in difficulty. Although the Wookie language was far more pleasant sounding than Ugnaught.

Ugnaughts reminded her too much of fat little piglets, rather.

Still, it wasn't overly hard to greet the thing cordially. She murmured towards Mako, "See? Civility!" Mako rolled her eyes back at her. The Ugnaught actually started jumping up and down, then, squealing, "Rival! You are the rival! Oh, no! But we're not ready! Go away!"

Kastiel looked over at the Ugnaught's ... pile. She figured her timing was impeccable, as usual. "Oh, hey. If that's supposed to be a droid, you're screwed. Because I came earlier than you were planning."

One of the smaller Ugnaughts snorted an angry sound, "But we worked so hard! _You_ quit the Big Hunt!"

Kas shrugged and took to tapping her slender finger against the blaster tucked against her hip, "I can always kill you instead."

The Ugnaught leader waved one of its pudgy hands, adopting a more conciliatory demeanor suddenly. Threats to one’s life tended to do that. At least when you were dealing with beings of greater than average intelligence, Kastiel thought. This pudgy little Ugnaught wasn’t stupid, either. Even if he did hang his head shamefully as he admitted to them all, "No, big hunter is right. Mark Two not finished. She get drop on us. She big hunter.” The porky figure waved his short fingers towards the doors, “We leave Big Hunt. Maybe ... Shadow Death will kill her."

Kastiel watched the dwarfen pig-like creatures snuffle. If they could’ve managed tears they might have shed them, rather than file in a sad, sorry trail out the nearby doorway of the warehouse. They left the machine parts right then in the center of the space without even glancing backwards, no less. Kastiel eyed the pile thoughtfully, looking for possible upgrades to her own sorry ship droid.

Mako watched the Ugnaughts leave, shaking her head as she smirked, "I so recorded that entire confrontation. I'm pretty sure that's Great Hunt history. Because I've never even heard of something like this."


	29. Always Too late

Kastiel could hear Mako crying, saw that Mako was bent over the shattered form on the floor. But her own mind was spinning blankly. Like it was a holorecording moving, zipping through the each one of the steps and sequence of events since arriving on the Hutt-controlled world. She thought, considered, dismissed, disregarded every motion she had made – then she started the exercise all over again. And again.

Anuli had been crying. " _He's here! Mako, help me! I can't get away! Help me!_ " He sobbed then, begging someone Kas couldn't see and flailing with both his hands through the air, " _Don't! Get away from me! Please! No! Stop!_ "  Now he was nothing more than a broken thing splayed out on the floor. Kastiel only stared down at him, her lips pursed and her jaw clenched.  Because she wouldn't forget.

Anuli's neck was bent at a strange angle. His eyes stared sightlessly, lifelessly up at them both. Blood pooled and spilled from his mouth, splattered against his chin as he had apparently tried coughing, tried desperately to keep breathing. Futile, lost. His implants were ripped from his face, leaving his nose and cheekbones fractured and misshapen. Done before he died, to hurt him in the dying, even.

The killer made him afraid first. Made him cry. Anuli was a tormented, abused figure even before someone finally and simply broke his neck.

Kastiel clenched her fingers into fists. She looked over at Gele'ren. The twi'lek's chubby frame was suspended against the wall behind the table where they sat down to discuss their plans to expose Eidolon Security's client information on the holonet. She stared at the stumped remains of his lekku. The things had been hacked off hard, just before he was garroted and left to hang there on the wall in garish display.

Gele'ren was so thrilled, so excited as they planned, " _See, if I get rid of the Eidolon, the Cartel makes me a full-fledged boss with my own clan! And all we got to do is take out one little assassin and his pet corporation. What a fraggin' deal, huh?_ " He had chuckled across the table at her, his thick lekku shaking with mirth.

One little assassin. Such a straightforward job. Take the codes from the Bith slicer, let Anuli use the codes to access the Eidolon's information, then upload it to the holonet, and wait for the Eidolon to come after Kas. So easy. So simple.

Except the killer didn't come after Kastiel.

He didn't strike against her.

He hurt someone she promised to save, rather.

She couldn't save him!

" _Get out of there, Anuli! Run!_ " But he only screamed instead.

Kastiel huffed a harsh breath, motioning towards Mako. She couldn't let anything happen to Mako, had to protect her. She gestured, "Careful. This is a trap. The Eidolan’s baiting us, Mako." The Bith! Kastiel cocked her head, thinking fast. Anuli called him Zee, said his code was beautiful, " _Like a symphony! The math sings!_ " The Eidolon ripped Anuli's appreciation for such music straight from his face, tearing him apart.

Kas shook her head, letting the anger slowly settle like a burning brand deep in her belly.

Zee was scared, too. He stared down the barrel of her blaster, panting wetly in fear as his big, round black bug-like eyes bulged and he argued with her. Mathematically, no less. " _It wouldn't be logical to risk meeting with the Eidolon to tell him you have the codes, would it? I'll run away, hide! You have no need to kill me, please!_ " He fucking lied to her. Made her feel sorry for him and fucking, fucking lied. She would so make him pay for this - for giving them up to the Eidolam. For allowing someone, anyone to target and harm Anuli.

She’d do it _logically_. Like a math solution! Stab one of mine in the back equals my blaster bolt straight into your round, squishy-looking face! Bastard bith!

Mako scrambled to her feet, sniffing back tears. She wiped the snot from under her nose, "Yea, you're right. No time right now. I'm sorry."

Kastiel waved her hand subtly, calming the small cyborg and motioning her to silence. She just leaned her head so softly sideways and listened. The noise from the cantina outside the office provided a rhythmic motion to the ebbing sounds in the room, a throbbing beat.

But there was something … some slight pressure … the simplest wake in the current of sound trapped in the room, just enough that Kas knew they were being observed, watched. She listened, thinking, methodically going through the sounds that belonged, removing them from her consideration – concentrating.

Until … right there! The smallest whisper, a bare, low sliding shift as the stealthed droids whirred gently, their powered parts providing the slightest sound that worked to expose them to her heightened sense of hearing. She counted them carefully, the three droids hidden in the corner of the room. She leaned back onto the balls of her feet, shifted only slightly.

She heard the barest beep of an alarm, just before she triggered an incendiary missile from the gun mounted on her right forearm. The missile hit the first droid, creating a booming cacophony of sparks and droid cries of distress. The noise peeled through the room for the briefest of moments. Then the three droids raised their rifles to threaten them, mangled and still burning the entire while.

Mako yelped, leaping behind the nearby table to kneel in the bloody pool left behind by Gele'ren. Kastiel heard her loosing a whine of distress as her knee squelched against the thick mess of blood and gore on the floor. But she still leaned up to send steady bursts of blaster bolts towards the droids.

And Kastiel never once hesitated. She fired her jet pack, rocketing above the room so that she could rain blaster bolts in a veritable storm towards the fighting machines, spraying the three droids with rippling destructive fire.

Then Kas' boots touched back onto the ground, pattering roughly as she landed. She panted slowly, felt beads of sweat sliding down along the side of her face. The droids were smoking, puffing and wheezing as their mechanical parts continued to twitch in futile attempts to fight. Mako stepped up behind Kastiel, watching as the hunter reached down towards one of the still glowing heads and yanked it loose from the machine's neck, "Bet this is linked to the Eidolon, so he could watch the show. Find him, Mako."

"On it." Mako reached to take the droid's head before she turned towards the holoterminal behind Gele'ren's desk. Kas could hear Mako sniffing back another small sound of grief. Then she looked down towards Anuli one more time, leaned over to touch his forehead. She whispered to him, sighing.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't fast enough, sorry I took too long. I won't forget you. I promise, Anuli."


	30. What's in a Name?

He knew, when he saw her eyes for the first time. Her eyes were the richest brown, aching with something hard and terrible, and glinting at him with purpose and determination – like the deepest earth holding hard to the tallest and thickest of trees. She would accomplish what she'd come for; _nothing_ would stop her.

He saw it for what it was. Because it was the same drive that had once compelled him, pushed him. It was the resolve that drove him to leave behind the harsh plains of his home world, to turn his horned head towards a better future rife with recognition and notoriety. It was a single-minded focus, a burning determination to be the best, the greatest. And nevermind that it was the greatest _killer_ he looked to be called. He wanted to be the monster that was feared, the bogeyman they used to frighten children.

He didn't even remember his name anymore. Only because the one who'd first lifted a blade to take a life and earned the name Eidolon in the taking, was someone long gone and since forgotten. Only the Eidolon remained.

He didn't remember that long ago person. Or he pretended he didn't remember, at least. But he did remember the look on that first man's face when he killed him so long time ago; the way his mouth twisted in agonized shock and his eyes sparked with pain. He liked that memory, held onto it. Because he’d hated him so much, hated his father completely, utterly. Every taunt and jeering sneer that said he would never be anything, that he was only nothing and would always be nothing was proved so wrong in that moment.

He showed him, when he thrust a blade straight into his belly and then ripped up. To make sure it was finished. And hard, so it _hurt_. Killing was supposed to hurt!

So that was the memory he held onto. Not the name. That, he left behind. Left it there, along with the weakness that let his father last as long as he did. He relied rather on the glory he made for himself using a new name, on his own resolve and will.

No. He was the Eidolon. People whispered _that_ name, with trembling fear that skittered down their spines like biting ants. And it pleased him to know they felt it, too.

But now he watched the hunter coming towards him. And he saw it, a steely determination firing her spirit. It flamed from her eyes, her gaze burning into him as she stepped forward. He remembered it, remembered how it burned him up from inside. How much he hungered -- for fame, for glory, for a name. It was why he'd become a ghost.

But this one? She was going to be a fraggin' hero before she was done. The only thing he could hope for before it was done, was that his own name would make hers greater.

Oh, and that she'd save him from the fate the Cartel was calling for him, too.

He sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes sliding down her lushly curved figure, the soft shape hugged by the hardest armor. Her blasters nestled against her hips, the handles well-worn from the oils of her hands. She was good, practiced, smooth. She walked with confidence, surety, purpose.

This was a woman who had already ruined him. She showed him up, demonstrated his incapability and ineffectuality in the face of one, single and lone assailant. He discounted the little female cyborg following her, in fact. Didn't matter, regardless. His business was fractured and broken in the face of her assaults. Not even the attack he made against her in retribution could save him now. He was bleeding out and the Cartel could smell it.

They wouldn’t only take his head. No, they would slowly take him apart, bit by little bit, rather. By the time he finally succumbed to death, he would be crying, weeping, and begging them to just let him die.

It would be brutal. It would be slow.

Ironic, he thought, that he was now looking to the same woman who ruined him to save him from that. Because she could accomplish it. It's why he only stood here, listening as she blasted and banged her way towards him.

He was waiting to see if she could offer him the better death than the Hutts would give him.

He'd give her glory. She'd give him peace. It was a good bargain, he thought.

Then he saw her eyes. Earthy, deep, and burning fiery. And he finally feared. He feared she was going to deny him the easy death, the one that would allow him to retain some sense of distinction, of legend. She hated him. But it was hard and terrible. So he became afraid.

"Unbelievable. You have to tell me why you're doing this? Who sent you?" He shook his head, staring at her.

The hunter sneered at him, "I didn't come here for conversation."

He shrugged, "Somebody wants me dead."

She canted her dark head towards him. Her hair was deeply black, inky black. It fell forward against her jaw as she inclined her chin. The implants that swept underneath her rich dark eyes gleamed, catching and reflecting the overhead lights. "Quite a few people want you dead, actually. Been asked by the Hutts to bring you in alive, even. Maybe I should take them up on the offer."

He sucked back an angry, bitter retort. But his gaze sharpened, went low and mean, "They're not the ones who sent you, though. Who?"

"Doesn't matter anymore. You hurt someone today. And Mako here asked me to make you pay for it." The little female standing just behind the hunter snorted at him, her gaze just as blank and hard as the hunter's. "Since I care more about her than I do the Hutts, I'm going to give her what _she_ wants. You. Are. A. Dead man."

His eyes became rich with pleasing, satisfied that he’d end quicker under her blaster than he would a Hutt’s tail. To give her added incentive, to fire her even further, though, he snarled at the hunter, "Many have tried. Their heads are mounted on my wall. Next to Gele’ren."

She smiled, "As if I’d want to keep your damned head so long. Shit, there isn’t a part of you I’d ever want to hang onto, trust me. Nope, I just want you to disappear. Forever. So you’re fucking forgotten. So that no one remembers you, let alone looks at your sorry-assed mug ever again. You’ll just be dead."

That's when he finally understood, that she wanted him to hurt in the dying, too. Only not like the Hutts did, not just a slow, pained process. Not physically. This was a hunter, rather, who’d sized him up and determined what really drove him, what it was he really wanted. She saw him for what he was, even!

And she was bitterly angry enough to hit him, to hurt him exactly where he was most inclined to feel it. She would make him pay and she would do it with brilliance and verve. So simple a thing, too. All she had to do was deny him his name.

He snarled at her, gnashing his teeth in sheer desperation.

Then the hunter's fist lashed out against the side of his face, just under his left horn. He felt a burst of shocking pain, felt blood trickling down from the laceration she left behind with the blow. He glanced down, saw that her knuckles were wrapped in bits of metal, the dull grey pieces of implants yanked from a young man's face earlier in the day. He shot her a dirty look, grunting angrily at her. But she hit him again. Then again.

He screamed at the end, blood streaming from the cuts and lacerations left by her fists.

She smiled at him, finally.

She didn't stop smiling until he was dead.

* * *

"You don't have a monkey-lizard with you this time, do you?"

Mako glanced up. Corso's grin disappeared as he considered her swollen eyes blinking blearily at him. But she stayed slumped, huddled over a glass filled with some kind of liquid that glowed with a pink luminescence there on the cantina tabletop. Not that she seemed to be drinking any of it. Mako just hugged the glass and cried a vivid stream of tears, completely oblivious to the myriad people streaming around the table in the cantina where she hunkered in misery.

Corso plunked himself into the seat next to her, looking around the cantina for a brief moment as he tried finding the Captain's sister. Why would she leave little Mako so sad and shattered here alone, anyway? But the bounty hunter was nowhere to be seen. Corso sighed as he regarded the tiny cyborg, instead.

He rather liked the plucky little female. Although Corso liked most females, to be honest. He tended to think women were a gift designed to soothe men's fractured selves, all their pains and upsets. It bothered him immensely to see anyone hurt one of them. Even if experience taught him it was terribly easy to hurt a woman, too. And hard as hell to fix their hurts, to boot.

Now Corso tried using some humor. Because it worked for Gaibriel more often than not, so why not. He just bantered blithely, "Times like this, I'd let a monkey-lizard dance on my head. Maybe you’d laugh, at least."

Mako smiled with brittle briefness, "Really? There’s the mark of real bravery, then. Monkey-lizards can be scary things."

"Brave? No way, not me! I’d just rather have a monkey-lizard tear out my hair, than see a pretty lady go off crying in some strange cantina." Corso reached out, running his finger along the tear tracks marking her cheek, "Things like that … well, it's a sorry thing to see, at least."

Mako puffed a small breath of air that went brushing over the bare skin of Corso’s fingers on her face. He sucked in a breath, startled by the warm, humid sensation of that air moving across his sensitive fingers, and he shook his head so the dark braids against the side of his face brushed his jaw. It was enough to make her really smile, watching how uncomfortable he looked, there. Mako breathed out, "Sometimes, though, a woman needs to cry."

Corso rolled his armored shoulder, "If you tell me what happened, I'll make whatever bastard made you cry pay for it."

Mako looked down, carefully spinning the glass containing her pretty, pink-colored drink. She murmured, "Kas already did that. She beat his face to pieces before she finally shot him." She leaned closer to Corso's armored chest, whispering in feigned conspiracy and smiling terribly, "Remind me not to ever, ever piss her off."

Corso felt his eyebrows scrunching together into a hard frown as he regarded Mako, "She's dangerous?" Corso was still trying to wrap his head around the idea his captain was born in the Empire and what that meant. Let alone that his sister still performed jobs for them. Gaibriel was adamant she wasn't overly loyal to the Empire, though. But what did that really mean? To Corso, if you worked for someone, it showed a certain amount of loyalty to them. Not that he really voice his worries when Gaib was standing there, staring at him, either.

"You don't become a bounty hunter for the Empire without proving you're dangerous, Corso. It simply isn't done,” Mako chuckled.

"But would she hurt _you_? Or the captain, maybe?"

Mako smiled, because he didn't include himself in the list of possible targets for Kastiel's anger. She liked that he was more concerned for everyone else, even before himself. She shook her head, so that the braided tendrils of her hair trembled against the back of her slender neck, "Kas would die first.  That's the problem with her, even." Mako looked away, her eyes going bleak and terrible again as she remembered, "No, Corso. She was mad today, only because she wasn't able to stop someone from being hurt. He begged her for help, and she couldn't save him. It’s why I came here, so that she wouldn't see me cry. It would make her feel worse, like I blame her. When I don't."

"Who was it? What happened?"

"My friend. Someone I knew from when I was still little, here on the streets. He never got away from this place. And it killed him when he tried," Mako's voice broke towards the end and new tears slid down her cheeks.

Corso sighed slowly, "Shouldn't do that. Cry, I mean. Makes me feel all protective."

She dragged her lip between her teeth, bit down lightly, "Not like you'll be able to protect me from life’s tears, Corso."

He grinned at her, just looked lopsided and adorable. Mako thought he was the cutest fellow she'd ever come across all of a sudden. Corso’s eyes were softly brown, and they stayed warm and welcoming, gleaming at her over his scarred cheekbones. Corso leaned closer to her, "Sure I can. Just have to make sure you forget all about crying."

"Really? How would you do that?"

"Easy. I'd start by kissing you."

Mako smiled and propped her small chin up with one little hand bent over the cantina table. She stared at him through her glistening, dark eyes, "So’s this just a hypothetical? Or will you really kiss me?"

"I'm not big into hypotheticals."

"Good start, then. I’m really looking forward to seeing how you finish, though."

* * *

Kastiel wrapped the fibercord rope around the steel girder supporting the balcony over the ledge where she was perched, and then she secured it with a grappling hook. She attached the rope to the harness circling her waist before looping it down and around her thighs. But she glanced down over the side of the building, only briefly. Wiser not to stare too much, or too long out over any precipice.

Here, the darkness of the lower levels was thick and heavy. It seemed to reach up towards where she stood. Even the bright lights of the casinos and cantinas just barely touched it and certainly didn’t break it. It was almost beguiling.

But Kastiel shook her head, concentrating rather on the murky, dark circular opening just below where she was leaning. Bilge water spilled from the hole, the filthy sludge sliding down the building thickly. So that a dark brown stain extended in a wide, terrible swath under the hole itself. The shit of millions, right there on a single wall.

"Crazy piece of work. Insane, even," Kastiel muttered, facing the building before sliding herself over the side and carefully lowering herself. She kept up a steady refrain, talking to herself as she maneuvered down and into position. Then she secured her frame against the side of the building, using hooks against the edges of the hole to successfully hold herself in place. She plunked both her booted feet against the sides of the opening, even, and splayed her body as wide as possible. Until she was very nearly an X-shape there in the opening itself, and she waited.

Kastiel peered into the inky black hole and listened, grunting when all she could hear was more dirty water sliding down out of the hole. More shit, likely washing down to cover her boots again. Why did her boots always end up covered in shit, too? She muttered darkly into the dripping silence, "Figures you'd be late. Gods, this stinks." Kastiel looked away, panting through her mouth to avoid the stench emanating from the sewer in front of her. She breathed quietly as she waited, concentrating and thinking.

That's when she heard a small shift, the tiniest of sighs as something inside of the sewer moved. She looked into the dark depths, straining her senses. She eyed the connections on the rope and checked her harness all over again, leaning backwards in preparation.

Then there was a rush of swill spilling from the hole, splashing over her boots so that Kastiel grunted unhappily. She watched the dark crap lapping over her feet, snarling. Dammit to the Hells! But then came some male voice, hurried and rushed calling down to her through the dark hole, his voice echoing, "Catch me!" Kas grunted as the sound of a body sliding roughly down came through the swelling darkness, as more dirty water flowed out even faster. Then a man burst out from the round dark, falling against her form with both his dirty arms flailing to catch against her figure.

"Gotcha!" Kas grappled the man into a tight hold, yanking him up against her chest and clinging to him. He groaned a pained breath, raising his legs to wrap them around her waist and buried his face into the leathered armor that covered her shoulder, panting from the pain and hurt of her rough grip. Kastiel grunted harshly at him, "Hold fast!" Then Kas looked up, eyeing the ledge looming above their tethered heads.

She tapped the controls for her jet pack, smoothly rocketing towards the ledge before lowering her burden against the surface there. She barked down at his unmoving frame splayed out on the floor, "Move it! Not much time, now."

To his credit, the male human didn't hesitate. His black eyes only briefly flared before he flung himself into motion. He leaped up into a kneeling position to help her yank and pull the ropes loose from where she’d secured them. Together then, they stuffed the materials into the pack that Kastiel slung across her back.

The man lowered his bald head when Kastiel stopped to fling a cloak over his shoulders, and he stayed quiet as he quickly yanked the hood of the garment up to cover his head and features. Kastiel was already moving, trotting along the ledge and not even glancing back at him to see if he followed her. He pattered behind her, stopping to lean against a wall overlooking the street below when Kastiel leaned down to scan the walkway below.

No security, no guards rushed along the way. No hint of enforcement to bother them, and Kastiel hummed happily. Only more of the same lost beings common to these more obscure and lonely sections of Nar Shaddaa.

Kas grunted as she gestured brusquely towards the muck-ridden human to keep following her. Then she jumped smoothly down onto the thick overhang that extended over a quiet vendor’s stall against the side of the walkway and tumbled over onto the path itself, landing easily on her feet. She only glanced quickly to see if anyone was watching, before stepping off briskly down the way. Not surprisingly, several loiters disappeared into the shadows rather than stick around to watch anything she did. On Nar Shaddaa, seeing the wrong thing at the wrong time could result in a hefty price. Kastiel, with her armor splattered with shit and her blasters gleaming against both her hips, was obviously working. Probably with something like a Hutt. Or worse.

Nope. Everyone studiously ignored her as she rushed along.

The dirty man followed Kastiel, as she ducked through a doorway leading up a narrow stairway. He stayed close to her backside as she hurried up the steps towards a terribly small, narrow door, and disengaged the lock. The room on the other side was even more small, but Kastiel hurried inside and pointed, "Refresher, in there. Get cleaned up. I brought clothes." She didn't watch him bending inside the stall that counted as a bathing space in the brief apartment, didn’t even hesitate. Kas spent those few minutes cleaning her own armor, rather.

When he emerged, Kastiel thrust a set of clean clothes at him and roughly motioned him to dress. Then she dashed through the same process -- washing herself carefully, before thrusting her legs into a pair of clean pants and yanking a clean shirt over her head.

He watched her, of course. Because she was worth watching and he was in a terrible habit of watching everything, everyone. Knowing, learning as much as he possibly could was a particular skill and one he’d refined many times over.

His eyes stayed dark, slanted into an almond-shape and hooded as his gaze slid down along her figure. He felt some twinge of slight, negligible interest in her female shape, of course. He was human, male and healthy, still. And she was decidedly attractive with all her clothes removed. Her up-thrust breasts were round and firm, topped with sweetly puckered, pink nipples, over a taut, bare belly marked with a brief twinkling jewel in the little button. An unexpected adornment on the body of a professional hunter, he thought.

But his manner was one of preparedness, still. Certain things, while worth looking at, were not so much for a real having. There simply wasn't time, basically. That, and her entire demeanor seemed to shout, " _Don't even think about it_." He knew she was sizing him up every moment they shared there in the closet of an apartment space. He never lost sight of the fact she was a hunter – a professional who considered him more a threat, or maybe a prize than anything else.

She was at least as smart as her brother. It was there in the sharp glances she slanted towards him every so often, in the dark turning of her brown eyes. Such beautiful, familiar eyes, he thought. And since he didn’t for a moment underestimate that particular agent, not for a single moment – he wouldn’t think less of this slender, pretty female version of the bloodline, either. These ones were sharp, like razors.

They were deadly serious. And dangerous as every Corellian hell ever was.

Kastiel grunted suddenly, "Shouldn’t have gone peeking your way. But if you fool yourself into thinking I’m yours to direct after this, you’re damned stupid."

He shrugged and looked towards the tiniest scrap of opening that counted as a window, some mere slit of viewing surface set into the wall. One of the advertising kiosks that seemed so pervasive on the planet was just then sliding by outside, and he watched it, "You know very well I am not stupid. You only watched him too closely. I wondered why, that’s all. You’re gratified knowing I didn’t pass my interest along, rather." He turned to face her again, his gaze going serious and terrible, "I don’t imagine you’ll cease your consideration. Eventually it will catch _their_ notice, too. He's becoming ... important."

She stopped, standing still to glare silently towards the wall for a long moment. She muttered slowly, "It’s why I have to be strong enough. Need my own place to be strong, certain. They’ll try using him against me otherwise. Or they’ll use him up and spit him out, even worse."

"Yes. I told you, they've already taken the first steps."

She huffed as she pulled her armor back on and buckled the chest-plate into place over her shirted breasts, "Not sure how the hell you plan on stopping them." Kastiel wasn’t certain he even understood who _they_ really were, rather. Brilliant as he was, the man was likely focused on his own singular _they_ , and not on all the _they’s_ of Kastiel’s consideration, too.

"I may not be able to, actually."

"Then what value to me are you, really?"

"I'm the only one who has any chance of saving him; I’ve already put measures into place, even.” He glanced over at her, “I'll know when it happens, when they try to break him apart. I only want you to understand. What they’ve done to him … There won't be much left of him if I fail. But he’ll be broken and probably die otherwise." He looked at her, his eyes narrowing harshly, "Leave me here, and he doesn’t stand a chance. Choose."

Kastiel glared over at him now. Fool man, thinking he would so neatly box her into doing as he told her. She was not so easily dictated, though, and she made sure he understood that much, "Quite a call out for your damned head."

"Indeed."

She stared at him, her brown eyes burning with fervor. He actually marveled at her, that she looked so much a feminine version of her own brother right then. Scarred or not, she could be his twin. Such fiery passion, in their every line. Beautiful and glorious; how he could have loved the man, given the chance the agent would’ve allowed it. But all he had right this moment was his sister, rather.

She vowed suddenly, loud in that brief space, "If you fail, if he dies or if they break him like you say – well, then I'll hunt you down."

"I make no promises."

" _I_ do." Kastiel leaned forward, her fingers smoothing against the handle of her blaster. He knew she was terribly young, barely older than her brother. A year older perhaps, he judged. But that blaster’s handle was worn from the grip she maintained on it, as if she held it regularly every single day. He shuddered from the thrill of it, that threat in her gaze that she leveled on him. She only promised him, "No logic to it, no rhyme or reason. Just know, if I get you out of here, you save him. If you don't, then I'll hunt you down and you won't like it when I find you. It's as simple as that."

He gazed at her wonderingly, his dark black eyes wide, "You truly care for him. Remarkable.” He shook his head before dropping his gaze and admitted, “I have so little understanding of familial ties, bonds or feelings. My ... siblings, if you can call them that, never cared for me. Nor do I care overmuch for any of them. I wonder if it's a question of our breeding."

Kas just stared at him, nonplussed. Then she shrugged slowly, rolling her shoulders as if in admission, "He's my brother and that's enough for you to understand."

He nodded slowly, “So how do propose to get me away from here?”

Kastiel smiled softly, “You telling me there’s shit about us you don’t know, then? Hah! Since he’ll keep your ass safe in the meantime, you’ll keep quiet about _him_ , too. Don’t fuck this up, basically.” She checked that her blasters were properly strapped against her hips, before pointing towards the door, “Got a smuggler’s ride waiting for you, then. What're you called, by the way?"

"I've gone by many names. Faces, too, actually. For you, though?" He smiled slightly, "Call me X."


	31. Judging and Watching

Artus leaned his head back, looking up towards the gloom of the sky, where ships could be seen smoothing their course down towards the Kaas City spaceport. Sweat ran in rivulets down the side of his brow, dripping against the pearly sheen of the leathered cross-sections of armor that covered his shoulders right then. Not his best, nor prettiest armor.  But a Mandalorian was rarely bare of armor, not if he could help it at least.

Now Artus grunted softly as he watched the perpetual stormclouds gathering.  He wondered when the regular sheen of rain would turn into a downpour, rather.

Then Artus bent once again over the hot surface in front of him.  His thick, dark hands carefully manipulated the _beskar_ into the shape he envisioned in his mind's eye. Few metalsmiths had the skill at working Mandalorian iron as Artus did – it was an art he'd worked hard to perfect over the long years of his life.  And he succeeded to such an extent that his best warriors jostled and fought for the honor of wearing _something_ he had crafted.

Today, though, Artus shaped the piece he would give to his champion; the one he long since pinned so many of his hopes on. Such a warrior would be strong and capable. Able to carry along the best of the _Resol'nare_ , to uphold the tradition of the _Mando'ade_ no matter the challenge. Courage, fierceness, determination – these would mark his Champion.

Honor. The champion would fight with _honor_. Would know that gaining the prize dishonorably would forever diminish it, would cheapen it and make it worth nothing in the taking.

Artus shook his head.  The rough motion sent his dripping sweat flying through the air, sizzling over the hot surfaces it splashed over when it landed there. He heated the iron even more; but precisely, in so much careful increments to ensure the best means of shaping it.  Too fast, and it would liquefy and weaken, become brittle.  He only bent and shaped it once it was just hot enough, working it against the mold he fashioned in advance.

Then he raised his laser cutter, smoothing the edges of the piece and slowly welding the plates into solid place.  The shape was important, so he leaned low over the workbench to get it only … perfect.

Artus grunted a greeting when he heard a shuffle of feet coming into the courtyard through the nearby doorway, the press of boots moving towards him.  But he didn’t straighten right away.  Only listened, hearing the calls from the warriors just outside to know who was approaching.  But they were friends, and he smiled slightly as he glanced over at the two figures moving towards him.

"Nice bit of armor you got going there, Mandalor." The rough, gravelly voice resounded through the space, of course.  Lek was always that capable, sending his voice in a projecting boom whenever it was called upon and no matter what the venue where he set himself.

Artus wondered briefly at the ability, admired it.  Then he turned around, swiping one of his hands across his forehead to smooth the beads of sweat off before they might drip down over his face.  Then he leaned his head backwards, craning to look up into the Huntmaster’s shaggy face, "I suppose there's something to be said in having a Huntmaster that even the Mandalore has to look up to.”

The wookie growled back, "Only a human would worry himself over questions of size."

Artus chuckled, glancing towards the Huntmaster’s assistant behind him. But Lek was leaning over the table to consider the armor he was crafting. The human glanced askance at him sharply, his eyebrow upraised. Artus nodded at him, "You might be able to consider the best color I could give it, Lek."

Lek leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest as he smiled so slowly.  He grumbled, but his voice still managed to reverberate through the space.  Thankfully, Artus’ warriors were still outside the doors and unable to hear him.  Lek asserted, "Best not to let anyone else know who you're making this for, Mandalor. None but the most select few are supposed to know how the hunt's even proceeding, certainly not enough to truly judge who the winner's going to be. Not yet. And a lot can happen between now and the Hunt's end, too."

Artus shrugged his shoulders, rolling his aching muscles to relieve the stiffness he could feel was starting to smart there. He grunted, "I'm no fool warrior, Lek. I know what it takes to win, won the Hunt myself once.  It’s _my_ Hunt!  So I watch them go along, and I listen to the whispers and the talking.  I’ve got a good notion who’ll be standing there at the end."

Lek chuckled, shaking his head. He prodded the unfinished armor pieces splayed on the table just then with one of his gloved fingers, ran one finger down along a line where he hoped to see a splash of color.  He was looking down at the piece as he said, "Green. She favors green. Trimmed in gold, mayhaps."

"Really? I would've thought blue, actually."

Lek shook his bald head with methodical precision, "Wrong-thinking, then. Green, for duty. And gold, too, for vengeance. That hunter’s honor-bound; she serves hard, moves fast. She won't give up what she's fighting for, not for anything. Not even for the Clan that takes her in. Not for you, either."

Artus frowned suddenly, "You say that, as if you know what she fights for."

"Nah, I couldn't tell you exactly what. Only that she's purely driven."

"You don't seem worried, though."

"’Cause I'm not. That one fights for something real enough. But it's a _good_ fight."

The wookie Huntmaster grunted just then, lifting his muzzle of a mouth, "The Hunter will take the prize. It's only a matter of time."

Artus turned away, looking up at the sky once again. Starships were sliding carefully through the gloomy, murky dark clouds above their heads.  There were lights that shined from inside them, blinking out at the storm-ridden skies outside.

He remembered the last days of the Hydian Way Blockade all of a sudden, the way those smuggler ships darted in and around the Mandalorian cruisers over the wide breadth of Coruscant. Their laser cannons blazed fire the entire while, sending bolts that caused immense explosions against the cruisers' deflector shields.  His brothers called out wildly as they died in the fires that bloomed along the corridors of the ships, screamed from pain and anger as their victory turned to the ashes of utter defeat so stunningly.

The Empire made them some mere puppets and yanked against the strings that defined Mandalorian honor, used them completely, like they were meaningless fodder.  Artus didn’t deplore being made into a tool, to become some vividly pointed weapon that could destroy some powerful, dynamic enemy.  It only proved the _Mando’ade_ was that capable, that challenge didn’t break them, or ruin them.  What he hated was being so controlled and directed, until the Empire forced them into a place where they had no chance for truly honorable battle. That was why the Republic was able to defeat them.  Mandalorians _had_ to fight with honor, had to hold onto it.  Always. 

Mandalorians had to be independent of them both, owing allegiance to neither the Republic or their Sith enemies. No, when Artus stood proudly over the vanquished form of his predecessor, the Lesser, the one who led the _Mando’ade_ to be so fully aligned with the Empire they were no longer able to distinguish themselves from those lapdog soldiers the Sith practically owned – that was when Artus finally showed them all what it was to be Mando, and to never forget.

Artus encouraged his own warriors to fight as they willed, be it for money or glory or position. But they had to maintain the honor of their people, uphold their traditions – show what it was to be Mando, the _resol’nare_. There was nothing more precious or important. Nothing.

And their champion had to be the one who showed them all.

Lek was chuckling again, "She's got more offers coming in from the clans, by the by."

Artus grunted, his eyes crinkling with studied humor as he turned away from the ships flying overhead.  He smiled, "She’s young.  Strong.  Can you imagine the warriors she will make?"

Lek held his hands up, grinning widely as he shrugged, "That’s probably why they're chasing after every notice or news of her, practically forming a following before she’s even won the prize."  The Huntmaster chuffed that rough laughing sound common to wookiees, his head rocking back and forth on his thick neck.

The Mandalore looked up at the Huntmaster then, scanning his wooly features with a suddenly studied expression, "You agree, then?"

The wookie nodded slowly, his laughter sliding away slowly as he became serious and methodical: "She's going to win. She only follows the steps, shows us how it is done. The Eidolon could tell us that much, if no one else ever did.  She broke him first, though."

Artus nodded, the sense of satisfaction thrumming through his blood as he recalled the reports from Nar Shaddaa again. Rumors had flown fast, that the target on Nar Shaddaa was untouchable, unreachable.  But the hunter showed them how simple it was; didn’t even use her blasters to break him.  His warriors told him, standing there in front of him with their voices thick with admiration and respect, “She beat the zabrack to death with her fucking fists, mandalore.  Made him bleed, because he hurt one of her people.”

Now Artus decided, looking at Lek with his chin lifted hard and firm, "Do it, then. Ask her to go after these rumors of the List being sold. She'll retrieve it for us. And discover who betrayed his honor that badly by selling it, too. I want his head."

"Doubt she'll tell us that much."

"Why do you say that?"

Lek leaned forward, his brown eyes serious, "Because she wants his head more than you do, Mandalore."  Artus grunted with even more satisfaction, then.


	32. Looking at Each Other

Torian wiped against the surface of his electrostaff, smoothing the oils coating his hands down its length before he brushed it with a cloth. The electromagnetic bursts that sparked from its ends  created white pulses of painful energy whenever he swung the weapon.  But now they were sheened gray and dull, silent in his hands.  Torian knew the weapon, used it well through simple, easy routines. 

Maintaining the staff was as much a routine, as it was battling with it in his hands.  Torian used tremendous care whenever he worked over his electrostaff, setting the emitter to a low-level setting before he bent to manipulate its settings.  If he mishandled the staff, he would earn himself a stunning shock rather than some painful blow of killing energy.  Jogo mocked him for the caution, taunting, “Maybe you think the staff’s got more control than you do, Torian.”  But Torian only ignored him.

A warrior didn’t rush the care he gave his weapons, or his armor even more.  He ensured all his equipment was in working condition, that it was effective, capable when he was in the field, and that it didn’t fail him when the need was greatest.  Torian stopped now, staring down at his electrostaff as he remembered his mother all of sudden – the way she gripped her own blunt-edged staff as it shivered with bursting blue charges.

She pressed an electrostaff into Torian’s small hands when he was still small enough, that his fingers couldn’t circle the weapon and it clunked down onto the ground in front of him from sheer breadth.  Aily chuckled as she watched him, assuring him he would grow into its weight. 

She pointed at the staff, fingered its length, " _The alloy that composes an electrostaff is resistant to the blows from a lightsaber, Torian. And the staff is made long enough a warrior can keep his distance from a Jedi wielding that sort of weapon, too._ ”  Aily guided him through the first motions Torian made with the electrostaff, teaching him, “ _Don't rely on the bursts of energy that come from the weapon to kill your enemies. Get in there close and bash them dead, firstly. Use the energy against an enemy who needs a slower killing, rather_. _Or one who gets to close to you and needs a shock._ "

Torian had never used his electrostaff to slowly destroy an enemy, had never endured reason enough.  There was never some compulsion so strong he felt the need. 

But he knew how to do it. Aily Cadera was adamant her son would know every possible working and capability of her most effectual weapon.  Torian accompanied so many of her training routines, until his memories of his mother were intrinsically bound up in the sparring rings where she motioned and moved through the exercises. And he stood next to her every chance, swinging his own blades and staff as Aily directed him through the best techniques.

His father favored rifles when he went to battle, Aily said.  So he threw himself into training with the electrostaff even more, eschewing the sign he was anything so much as Jicoln’s son.  No, in Torian’s nightmares, he saw Aily bleeding from the wounds a rifle would’ve made to her so that she lay there dying. Blood would’ve spilled out onto the ground, he knew.  And Torian clenched his fingers around the electrostaff harder, eyeing it carefully.

Jicoln would bleed, too. 

"Torian! _Haar'chak_! Will you be finished sometime today?" Jogo glared balefully over at him as he stomped towards the workbench where Torian was working.  Torian only shrugged, though.

"What's your hurry, Jogo?" Torian leaned over to catch Dev’s eye, as the other warrior swung through the doors following Jogo.  Dev was scowling at Jogo’s back, but he stayed silent.  Jogo was so typically confrontational.  The only thing which had Dev scowling today was that Jogo showed his venom right there, right there where all the _auretiise_ might catch sight of it.  The _mando'ad_ was stronger so long as it was one whole; not pieced together, held together only loose and weak.

Torian glanced around quickly, subtly noting the curious stares from the tradesmen and patrons who jostled among the benches of the weapons market.  Many of them ducked and weaved under the limited framework of the nearby doors, at least; trying to shield their precious heads from the drizzling rain so common to Dromund Kaas.

Jogo pursed his lips.  Stubbornly refusing to back down from his tantrum, obviously.  He just snarled meanly, "Want to get out of here." Jogo jerked his head around, trying to gauge the murky gray of the city’s skies from where he stood inside the doors.  The miserable clouds swirling over the towering spires of Kaas City promised real and heavy rain, anyway. Jogo rolled his shoulders impatiently.

Dev shook his head, leaning over the edge of the workbench to mutter sideways towards Torian, "He's been like this all afternoon."

Jogo glared at the both of them this time, gesturing at them choppily, " _Ganar bah urcir_."

"Who?" Torian grunted. He easily, quickly replaced his tools in his pack.  He slung his weapon across his back as he followed behind Jogo, already stalking his way so rapidly through the marketplace.  Dev trotted along beside him, his expression twisted into a perplexed look that probably mirrored Torian’s own.  Both of them darted curious looks at Jogo as they went along with him towards the wealthier levels of the city.  The spires of the towers loomed darkly over them, like pointed, bitter fingers reaching up at the darkening skies.

"Was in the cantina earlier. Was asked to meet with her, here," Jogo was nearly panting. Torian frowned at him, trying to ignore the curious looks some of the passerby were shooting at them as they marched so quickly along the walkways.

"Someone looking to have us complete a task, Jogo? Be mindful. The _alor'ad_ would need word, first," Torian cautioned. But Jogo shook his head, replying, "Not for this, he won't. Come on!"

One little man, his head covered by only the scarcest bit of fuzzy brown hair -- he yelped when caught sight of the three Mandalorians moving towards the building he was leaving just then. Dev actually chuckled as the fellow began scurrying down the hard, wet surface of the walkway, getting away from them.  He elbowed Torian, "Real credits says he makes it all the way to Coruscant before he realizes we weren't looking for him." Dev grinned, his mouth twisting up at the corner.

Torian smiled back at him, "Not Coruscant.  He isn’t so smart as that, I don’t think.  Balmorra, more likely.  He'll try to stay close to something Imperial. I've heard the Imperials are doing well on Balmorra."

"Would've liked to be there. I heard the fighting was heavy," Dev shrugged.  A Mandalorian didn’t endure battle.  He exulted in it.  Torian grunted an agreeable sound, briefly lifting one of his shoulders.

Jogo snarled at the both of them over his shoulder, though, " _Ne'johaa_! We're nearly there."

Dev scowled at Jogo, opening his mouth like he was prepared to argue with him.  But Torian only reached out to lay his fingers against the inside of Dev’s elbow, subtly calming his temper.  Better to avoid loud conflict in this section of Kaas City, Torian thought.  Leave the violence to the stormy clouds overhead, his face suddenly lighted by the sparks of electricity darting through the clouds overhead.

He frowned, confused as Jogo stepped through the entrance of some fine residential tower. Wealthy Imperial prestige marked the structure, bright and expensive fabrics lined the walls and windows, fine cushions appointed the benches in the entranceway – this was no place for a Mandalorian, Torian thought.  Not when he caught sight of the Imperial logo on some of the banners near the doors.

Torian shook his head as he ducked inside, following Jogo.  Jogo moved quickly, steadily down the hallways.  Torian and Dev stayed close, waiting untul Jogo finally stopped in front of a tall, dark door at one of the higher levels.  Jogo waved behind him, motioning Torian and Dev to stay quiet, and Dev murmured a caustic sound.  He looked almost willing to kick Jogo in the backside by that point.  But that’s when the door suddenly flew wide open.

"I thought you'd never find us! But here you are! And you did it! You brought friends! Oh, good! I told you they'd come, Leera, see?" The woman in the doorway reached out to grasp a grinning Jogo and pull him into the plush apartment. She had a pale, narrow face, with slanted blue eyes highlighted with those garish paints so popular among the supposedly noble members of Imperial society. Her dark red hair was pulled back and bundled against the nape of her neck, while tendrils were left to brush against her jaw.

She might actually be attractive enough; even if she was so over garish a figure.  But her manner was so much outrageous, too.  Hells, she practically _oozed_ impropriety, like it was an oily sludge.  Worse than any scantily-clad dancer in one of the cantinas, Torian thought.  Still, he stepped inside the apartments, pulling Dev’s gaping-faced figure along with him.  Just to get the door to close behind them, at the least.  So no one passing by could see the woman running her hands along Jogo’s shoulders and down the center of his chest.  Like Jogo was some fine prize to be savored, a mere thing for her to use. 

Torian frowned at the absurd smile Jogo was wearing right then.  Dev leaned closer just then, muttering nearby Torian’s ear, "Is she going to undress him, do you think?"

Torian grunted, shaking his head in bewilderment. Jogo glanced back when he heard them, but he didn't push the woman off and away from him, either.  He only smirked over at Torian and Dev, "This is Samara. She was … eager for some company tonight." Samara trilled some sort of happy sound.  Torian thought she sounded sickly sweet, like putting far too much dusting of saccharine syrup into a pot.

"Not just me, no.  My friends, too,” Samara waved her hand, gesturing towards the other side of the room. Dev gulped when he finally noted the two human females resting on over-plump cushions against the expensive sofas there. Torian only glanced at them long enough, before returning his curious gaze to Jogo again.  Samara was still chittering with inane gaiety as she kept fondling under the bend of Jogo’s armor, "That's Bessanne, there. And then there's Leera. This little party is for Leera, actually. My treat for her, before she gets married."

Torian actually scowled then, looking at the other females with more discerning judgement.  Bessanne was a giggling mess of a female, her eyes bright with some form of intoxication. Spice, maybe. Uncaring decadence, as if nothing of life or living could upset her, even.  She actually gyrated against the cushions as she pushed her dark brown hair back from her face.  Her middrift-baring dress rose against her pale thighs as she raised herself up onto her knees, holding up the fingers of her pale-skinned hand to wave at them in a come-hither motion that only made Torian want to gag and spit against the floor.

But the other one – Leera – she stayed quiet and pensive, her blue eyes sliding back and forth between Torian and Dev. Torian wasn’t able to judge her real desire by the look on her face or any sound she made, even.  If anything, he would call her apprehensive.  Frightened, maybe.  Was she being coerced somehow?

Torian turned to regard Jogo through narrowed eyes.  Samara was actually loosening the buckles on Jogo’s armor by then, and Torian bit his lip to keep from barking at him for the foolish, blind trust he gave the woman.  He restrained himself though, only biting past his clenched jaw, "What is this, Jogo?"

Jogo practically moaned a response, never looking at Torian even though he directed his words in his direction.  He kept his eyes focused on Samara’s every twittering motion instead, only groaning, "This? This is just fun. Come on."

Torian’s nostrils flared slightly with consternation. He couldn't have said why he felt the entire encounter was nasty. He did know if the Samara laid a single hand on _him_ , he wouldn't be able to stop himself from calling her obscene, though. Jogo slanted a glare in his direction suddenly, "Don't know what's wrong with you, Torian. It's not like you don't play with the females, with them chasing after you so much." Jogo sneered at him.

Dev chuckled with amusement suddenly, almost by rote.  Dev made up for Torian’s typical patience with his ready, whipping humor, at least.  He bantered in low tones, "You're just mad they like him better than you, Jogo."

Jogo glared at Dev now.  Before the men could descend into real conflict, though, Samara succeeded in pulling his armor loose just then.  She laughed sultrily as her hands went under his shirt to rub against his chest. Diverted, Jogo raised his arms up so she could push the shirt completely off. She smiled over at them as Jogo finished yanking his clothes off, nodding her red-haired head towards Torian and Dev.

"Come on, don't be shy. We won't bite. Too hard, at least," Samara hummed happily as she stroked Jogo’s naked chest. "You're so tough and hard, Mando. Just what I need tonight. Haven't played so dangerously since I took that imperial agent to my bed, in fact. Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Samara yanked and pulled on Jogo's hand, and he followed after her like some feathered fowl following its parent.  Only he seemed to be drooling, rather.  Torian snorted softly with disgust just as they disappeared into an adjacent room.  Then Dev loosed a gasping sound behind him, and Torian turned his head to look towards his friend.

Bessanne had dropped to her knees in front of the young Mandalorian. Her breath fanned against his armored belly as she began plucking against the armored covering his groin. Dev looked down at her in shocked bemusement, his mouth hanging open as he watched her. She tilted her head back so that her long hair actually brushed softly against the floor as she knelt there in front of him, and she giggled again.  Torian huffed sourly.

"Bessanne can be quite … wild in her passions."

The soft voice dragged his attention away from the spectacle, and Torian looked over at the last woman.  She was called Leera, he remembered.  She sat there, looking at him with near apologetic understanding.  But Torian only scowled even darker, "She's digusting."

Leera shrugged tiredly, "Her behavior is hardly even frowned upon here in Kaas City."

Dev loosed a heavy groan suddenly, from somewhere behind Torian.  He refused to look back them anymore, stayed focused on Leera to avoid further stomach upset.  She climbed to her feet slowly, raising her hand out towards him slowly.  Torian shook his head as he stared down at the long, slender fingers extended out to him, "Don't want to be used like a staff that happens to have a man attached."

Leera smiled slowly, with real pleasure then, "Oh, I'm glad for that. I've never had a man take me before, and I’d rather the first appreciate himself that much at least.  Far more attractive."

Torian's eyebrows shot up.  She noted the slender lines of hair above his eyes were actually slightly darker than the hair on top of his head, even.  At least that was how close she’d moved to him by then, hovering there in front of him.  Torian breathed out a puff of air as he stare at her, "Truly?"

Leera shrugged lightly, not sure anything she shared would really work to help him understand.  Mandalorians were said to be ploddish, brutish creatures; so that their ability to actually think seemed a strange, weird notion to her.  Why she felt so much driven to share herself with this Mandalorian was more bemusing than anything. 

But she’d always persisted when her gut said so, though.  Leera took yet another step closer to him, until her curves of her chest were only just brushing his and she had to look up to see his eyes.  She rasped softly, explaining, "Samara is a decent enough friend. When I decided to give my virginity, rather than let it be ripped away by the arrogant prick my family is determined that I marry, she was quite naturally the one I went to." She leaned aside, glancing past Torian towards the other couple still groping each other behind him. "Of course, she decided I needed what she called 'real men' for the task. I believe she only wanted to do something even most nobles would frown upon. She delights in shocking them, you know."

Torian rolled his eyes as he heard Dev gasp again. He reached down and grabbed Leera's hand, dragging her into a nearby room.  The bed against the far wall was just as plushly drawn as everything else in this place, he thought.  Soft and warm and absolutely nauseating; he far preferred a pallet tossed down on some hard ground somewhere, surrounded by good friends he could count on than this sad, dark place with its pretty hangings.

He turned around, his lips pressed tightly together, "I'm not a thing to be used, not a tool to be tossed in the face of some dull-faced _shab_ you're promised to marry."

Leera canted her head, regarding him curiously. He didn’t seem much like any of the stories of Mandalorians she considered over the years.  It made her wonder if she was disappointed, somehow.  It would be so much easier if he was something more … typical, at least. 

Leera muttered past the confusion she was struggling with, "I always thought men were delighted to use and be used. I’m not asking for anything from you, really. Not a promise of some sort, surely.  No money or gifts; not even your attention past the single night, here. Nothing. We’ll pleasure each other, is all.  Not because anyone made us, or controlled me." Then she frowned at him, her brow quirked up against her pale forehead, "What's a _shab_?"

Torian shook his head, looking out at the nearby wall of windows.  The rain had finally become a real downpour, with brilliant flashes of lightning making the droplets sparkle against the yawning expanse of glass that overlooked the far-off Citadel against the cliffs overlooking the city.  The weather perfectly matched his thoughts, Torian considered.

"Is it me, then? Am I … maybe I'm not pretty enough?"  Leera’s voice suddenly sounded sad and low.

Torian's head shot back around so that he could look at her again. Leera wasn't watching him anymore. Her gaze had dropped to the floor as she fiddled with the hem of her completely inappropriate … he supposed the garment covering her was called a dress somewhere, by someone.  The term didn’t seem reasonable to him, though.  Not considering how ephemeral and brief the cloth really was; he could even make out the darker shadow of her nipples through the covering over her chest.  The blonde curls that fell over her shoulders to curve around her breasts didn’t help, either. 

He could only just discern her teeth pulling against her lower lip as she bent her head down to avoid his gaze, and he suddenly grinned, "Do you seriously think to manipulate me into doing as you wish?"

She peeked up at him through her bangs, smiling slightly, "Is it working?"

He laughed then and shook his head, "No. I won't be manipulated. But I might be asked."

"Oh … Then.  Will you?"

Torian hesitated one last time, running his eyes up and down her figure. Then he looked back at her, saw her watching him. He nodded slowly, his chin dropping down as he bent his head towards her lips.  He mumbled to her, "Yes."

* * *

 

Kastiel crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing the Huntmaster's assistant carefully. The low hum of voices and activity outside the room seemed far-off and distant just then, and she was enjoying the slow quiet of the space. 

That, even while she wondered.  Kastiel’s curiosity was rarely evident, her keen observation moving so much quicker than those around her assumed.  It generally caught them by surprise, how much she really noticed.  But her silent watching only obscured how much and fast her mind truly worked.

Why the Huntmaster entrusted this task to her, drawing her back to the Enclave even as the Hunt was in progress – there was a testing to this particular adventure.  Something they were trying to find in her.  But Kastiel couldn’t discern what they were looking for, whether it was to merely _retrieve_ the list of targets.  Or did they want to see what and _how_ she would seek it out, grab it back from whoever took it?

The Enclave itself was a moving thunder of sight and sounds, until it actually seemed a pulsing vibration of energy.  It was warriors moving, sparring, until the air was heady with smells of sweats, of oils spread over armors and weapons, and of smacking sounds as shoulders were slapped and cheers were lifted up to the ceiling overhead. 

Actually entering the Enclave was so much a far cry from standing outside and watching the warriors from a distance.  Kas was still trying to acclimate herself to the idea she could walk through the doors, at least.

But Dromund Kaas was still Dromund Kaas.  There was a violent storm moving across the city’s landscape as she arrived on-world last night, and she ended up dripping wet, absolutely soaked by the time she reached the Enclave.  At least the Sith in the nearby central tower of the Citadel ignored her and Mako as they stomped through the puddling water along the walkways of Kaas City. 

A perfectly soggy finish to the ignoble, dirty-assed mission the Huntmaster set her on, Kastiel thought.  It fit her mood.

Lek was chuckling at her, though, neatly diverting her dripping mess and mood towards real warmth and welcome.  Hells, his gravelly voice always managed to sound pleasing.  Like a blanket of brotherhood, like she _belonged_ there. Talking to Lek always made her feel like … drinking, having fun.

Maybe she should consider stopping off at the cantina before leaving Dromund Kaas. Too much business could drive a human batty, really.  Better to relax every once in a while. Kas almost smiled as she recalled some of her more impressive adventures in the galaxy’s common spaces and cantinas.  That one fight on Sulust the last time she got drunk with Braden, when he was busily trying to convince her to join the Hunt – that fight was amazing fun enough, that she should drag Mako down to one of the local hubs before they left Kaas City.

Braden. She warmed even more as she remembered him all over again. Braden walked her back to her rooms after they drank half the cantina there on Sulust -- their arms flung across each other's shoulders, with both of them nursing numerous cuts and bruises and laughing harder than their injuries could've possibly justified.  He tossed himself down onto the sofa in the bare rooms where she was staying, cheering loudly, “Can’t wait to see the looks on their faces, when you take on that fancy-assed title of Champion, Kas.  I.  Can’t.  Wait.”  Stupid bastard snored the entire rest of the night, to boot.

Ah, good times, she thought now.

Lek almost reminded her of Braden.  Maybe that’s why she liked hearing him talking, anyway.  He grinned at her, "Hey.  You won me several bets, hunter.  I knew there was a reason I liked you." Lek leaned back on the balls of his booted feet then, grunting something that sounded pretty much like happy to her.

Kastiel shrugged, "Yea, well. I got all copies of the list and made sure that everyone at that auction on Hutta was sorry for being there. But I wasn't able to find out much about how the list got into the hands of the slicer." She glanced at Crista, who was standing quietly behind Lek nearby, lifted her chin only slightly, "Did say it was one of your people, though."

Lek rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking away for a moment.  Kastiel frowned slightly, her senses tingling as she watched him.  Because they already _knew_ , damn the shits.  What were they trying to find out about her, then?  Lek muttered slowly, "A Mandalorian? Well, shit.  That's bad business. But you got no name?  No notion which Mando it was that did it?"

Kas felt Mako step closer behind her, pressing at her to tell them what the slicer said.  Mako would be gratified only once Tarro Blood was a bloody blot on the floor, mind you.  But anything in the meantime that shamed the little shit who called himself Mandalorian would be even better.

Kastiel only didn’t want Tarro’s head on the floor in front of anyone’s boots but her own.  Letting the Mandalorians know what a smear he made of the name Mandalorian might leave them to put his name on the next list; or to send one of their own warriors after him, rather.  So she ignored Mako’s quiet compulsion, shaking her head towards Lek, “I’d tell you what the name was, if I had it for sure.  His head’s stayed low enough for now, though.”  There was a burst of satisfaction in Lek’s eyes suddenly.  Kastiel bit her lip to keep from smiling, as she realized the test was done.  She’d won the challenge, proved herself again.

Lek only nodded slowly at her, his eyes glimmering with warm approval.  Like a teacher considering a student who just answered the question correctly, maybe. "Well, that means we can't really do much except keep a closer eye on our people. You did real good, hunter.  Real good."  Crista gestured for them to follow her out of the room, then.

There was a small crowd of warriors and fighters gathered in the hallway outside the room as they emerged.  They quieted, turning to stare at the three women.  Kastiel frowned towards them as she ducked through the doorway, wondering why they were loitering there.  But she ignored them, turning to lean over Mako’s datapad instead.  Ensuring their pay for the work they did on Hutta was properly recorded in her accounts.

Kas was grateful she made such a strong point for payment. Mako had worried the work might color her chances of winning the Hunt - that it showed undue favoritism from the Huntmaster in front of the Clans.  The concern left her stomach twisting.  Demanding strong pay indicated it was separate from the Hunt itself; that it wasn’t so much a unique challenge to any one in the Hunt.

Mako was chattering with Crista as they walked along.  But Kastiel’s mind spun with several plans. Better provisions … she could totally restock the food reserves on the Bad Boy.  Kas practically rubbed her hands together as she thought about the spices she could afford now.  Would have to make sure there was a supply of rancid meat for the monkey-lizard, too.  She had managed to earn Quinnie’s respect enough he avoided trashing her quarters, at least.  Best to keep the little fuzzball happier than not.

Speaking of which, Two needed a new compressor, as well. He overheated a couple of times during the last month. There were several engine parts that needed upgrades. Might be able to swing another piece of shielding, even.

Oh, and sheets! She definitely needed finer linens for the sleeping quarters on board the ship. Kas shoved the better blankets towards Mako when they stole the Bad Boy, if only to keep the slender little female semi-warm in the ship’s confines.  They definitely needed more; and nicer ones, too. All the linens on board were blue and grey, all masculine colors that didn't suit her tiny crew at all. Kastiel preferred earthy tones of green and brown. Maybe yellow.

Kastiel grunted as she nearly stumbled into the armored chest of one of the Mandalorian warriors, barely glancing up as he grumbled something to her.  She only shrugged off his abrupt interference, assuming he was apologizing as she skirted his looming figure. Kas didn’t even stop long enough to really look at the man.

Crista barked out a real guffawing laugh, then, “Shit, Mako. I know you told me she was like that, but it’s funny as hells to watch.”  Mako giggled with amusement, “Every time, too.  Like they’re barely a blip on the screen.  She doesn’t even realize it.”

Crista glanced at the small cyborg, grinning, "Serious? All the time?" Mako nodded at her, almost laughing again as Crista looked over at Kastiel assesingly.  Crista raised up her eyebrows at the confused expression on Kastiel’s face, "Fucking incredible, if you ask me.  She could have her pick of the lot.  They’re certainly interested.  I figure they’ll eventually get her notice, if they keep at it."

Mako shrugged, chuckling, "Hey, I'd pay real credits to see it. I mean that, too. She just doesn't notice them."

"Yea? Well, Mandoes can be persistent buggers when they set their minds to a hunt. ‘Specially when the prize is worth it.  How much you willing to pay when I win?"  Crista clucked her tongue as she thumbed several more warriors from out of their way as they continued ambling towards the entrance.

Kastiel gave up trying to understand what they were talking about.  Even as Mako and Crista took to arguing over the actual amount of their wager.  She shook her head, turning her consideration back to the question of _important_ amounts rather than nonsense. Kaas City had several markets worth exploring while they were on-planet.  And fancier ship parts were available on the nearby Imperial Fleet, too.  How much time could she devote to visiting the Fleet, she was thinking just as another group of three Mandalorian warriors stepped through the wide, open doorways of the Enclave.

Kastiel stopped suddenly, right there in the middle of the hallways as she stared at him. He didn't notice her, only because his blonde head was bent to the side as he argued with another warrior.  The third fellow was young, slight and trailing along behind the others with a sappy, satisfied look on his face.  They looked like a group coming back from a rush at the cantina, one that involved some forays upstairs above the bar, too.

Kastiel just scanned him quickly, taking careful note of his armor, the brown and yellow markings against the Mandalorian alloys. Just so she would always recognize him, even if his head and face were covered up by one of those thick Mando helmets, although it was bare enough right now.  His figure was trim, a well-muscled form that spoke of health and strength without being too large or bulky, but his face was marked, both cheeks scarred deliberately with symbols she didn't recognize. The marks worked to highlight the hard angles of his jaw and his deepset golden-brown eyes.

It was _him_ , she thought. He was older, of course. But she remembered his eyes. They looked the same, even now. She remembered the way he watched her when the pain was so terrible she writhed and whimpered from it.  Her little body twisted on the table where the doctors placed her, as she tried to keep him in sight.  It was a nearly desperate need, to see him, and he fought to stay close to her.  He held her hand whenever he was able to duck the adults long enough, smoothing his fingers against hers and softly rumbling sounds she couldn’t hear anymore.  She watched him, watched him until the medicine finally worked and she slipped away into dark unconsciousness.  He was gone when she woke up in Tobie’s clinic.

Seeing him, feeling him close to her was enough to keep her from surrendering to the darkness filling her when her mother’s blood covered her, and she nearly whimpered now as she finally caught sight of him again.

"Kas? What's the matter with you?" Mako poked her in the back, gaping at her. Kastiel was practically stunned, awed as she stood there, with her dark brown eyes wide and staring.  But she only shrugged, looking over at Crista finally and subtly pointing.

"Who is he, Crista? His name?"

Crista glanced over, refusing to smirk as she responded.  There was more to this than some physical attraction, she sensed.  Although it was a given the man was a good specimen of human male, too.  He was worth looking at, leastwise.  Crista lifted her chin up, waving it towards the warrior, "Cadera’s his clan name. Torian Cadera, though. Not Jicoln.  That bastard’s probably dead, don’t care what they all crow about given the chance."

"Torian." Kastiel murmured his name, her tone quiet, thoughtful as she watched him walking through the doors into one of the side rooms of the Enclave along with the other two warriors.  She dropped her gaze down as he went, her voice almost warmly hungry.  Mako’s mouth dropped open in wide shock as she noticed Kastiel eyeing the Mandalorian’s ass.  His ass!  Mako  spluttered, "Crista!  This is your fault!  Did you set this shit up, or something?  You did, didn’t you?  Tell me the truth!”

Crista laughed aloud, "If I’d thought on it, I might have gone so far.  But I’m not genius enough just yet.  Doesn’t change the fact you owe me twenty credits, girlie. Pay up!"

* * *

 

Crista looked up at Corridan's holoterminal image, grinning like some loon bird, "There's these sweet rumors going round you been asking about my girl. Makes for a lot more interest in her, having Clan Ordo looking at her, ya know."

He shrugged back at her, smirking, "Well, maybe I just like looking at her.  She’s got this twist to her hip when she’s firing at an enemy that heats my own blood.  Though they’re saying the fight on Nar Shaddaa she didn’t use any weapon but her fists. Against the Eidolon!"

"I told you she was good!"

He smiled at her, crossing his arms across his chest, "Does this mean you're more willing to set up a meeting for me?"

Crista’s grin went even wider.  She would so be squawking about Corridan’s interest over the next few days.  But she didn’t hint of that now, just chuckled, "For you? You really do admire her that much, don't you? Really! Tell me the truth!"

Corridan harrumphed with good natured humor, "You're torturing me for a reason, I know it, Crista. Ah, you're just perfectly cruel, wound me every time! I love it! Remind me why I've never really gotten you to kiss me, hmm?"

She laughed aloud at his incredible flirting.  Even if she did preen after the praise, too.  "Cause I'm old enough to be your mother, that's why!”  Crista rolled one of her shoulders slowly, “Anyway, my girl's got her eye on a warrior, all right. But he ain't you. Took me this long to figure it out.  Think she knows him from somewhere, is all."

Corridan quirked an eyebrow towards her.  Only one of his own warriors was in any position to have caught the eye of a runner in the Hunt, and that one was assisting Fett, rather.  He knew Torian was on Dromund Kaas.  What was one of the Hunt doing at the Enclave, he idly wondered. Corridan murmured with honest gravity, then, "Well, damned if she doesn’t keep impressing me.  Not many females would have keen enough an eye to look at _him_.  Which only proves my point, that the best women are already spoken for, mind you." He leaned forward, "You want me to talk to him, heh?"

Crista nodded seriously.  She pursed her lips tight together, "This isn’t looking at a man for some night’s pleasure, Corridan.  Not if I’m any judge of a woman’s glance across the room at ‘im."

Corridan grunted, "That’s a relief, then. I’m pretty sure he went along with Fett, so he could get close enough.  He hasn’t stopped watching her since the Melee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have been sharing the translations for those Mandalorian terms I've used already. Will do better about that from here on out:
> 
> Haar'chak - damn it  
> mando'ad - mandalorians  
> aruetiise - outsiders, non-mandalorians  
> ganar bah urcir - have to meet someone  
> alor'ad - captain  
> ne'johaa - shut up  
> shab - a chum or a screw up


	33. A Devil Trapped in Hell

Tyresius Lokei tried thinking, what god did he manage to tick off so much that he couldn’t find smidgeon of luck enough to get his ass off this stinking-oven of a planet.

Damned Tatooine! Only a really pissy-assed God would be cruel enough to keep him stuck here like this! And why not admit he could anger a god, too? He managed to rile the vast majority of the galaxy, so why not the gods, as well? Seriously, don’t even stop with the one. Might as well get them all gunning for his horned head, while he was at it. Every fucking god there ever was, even!

Which makes a man wonder, if Mandalorians even have gods. And there’s a rather fascinating line of thought, too, Tyresius grunted to himself. Because if there was some religious fervor driving the Mandalorians hunting him, he could perhaps appeal to it. Just long enough to wiggle his lean-assed self out of their notice. Definitely worth prodding the next Mando he caught sight of, just to see if they would fall for it. Shit, wouldn’t be the first time he pretended a zeal he never truly experienced.

Although really thinking about it, it was pretty damned confusing that it took the Mandalorians so long a time to come after him. Tyresius was on Tatooine for years, hiding behind the carefully crafted anonymity of some stupid speeder salesman called Gellar Roing. Surely the Mandalorians would’ve found him long before now, if finding him was even halfway important to them. Only so many speeders for him to sell before someone starts wondering what the hells a fellow like him was really doing hanging around the burning shit-planet, anyway.

Probably didn’t care about his own horned butt, as much as they did finding Hylo, though. Shit, maybe they only started coming for him, because they caught her and Hylo was just some dead puddle of Mirialan blood against a nasty floor somewhere. Maybe they sent a blaster bolt into her gorgeous face. Or maybe they gave her to the Hutts and she was slowly creamed over weeks of painful torture. Maybe they _hurt_ her …

Maybe he really had lost her for good.

Tyresius actually grimaced at the painful sensation of the thought winging through him, the bitter sting of regret that caught his breath every fucking night when he tried to go to sleep, even. Ty shook his head, refusing to consider the chance too much, too long.

No. Not Hylo. Not his own girl. Hylo was like one of those long ago mythical creatures from human lore that always fell on their feet and enjoyed multiple lives. And what the hell were those little creatures called again? Just … fuck. His head had started hurting again, and he rubbed wearily along his temple, just under his false horn. The entire day was one horrible fucking mess of anxious, burning stress enough his entire body was left an aching ball of tension.

First that damned idiot of a bounty hunter took some wheedling fast talking before he finally dropped from his intentions to claim Ty’s own red-skinned head. Only remembering the man’s breezy mumbling through his Rodian vocal cords was enough to send new throbs of pain through Ty’s skull, actually. Although it was the Rodian hunter who was nervous and afraid, more than Tyresius was. So much, mind you, that Ty worried the little bastard would lose control of his hold on the blaster clutched in his scaly, green fingers and shoot him all to pieces even before he finished talking.

Seems the Mandalorians were making Tyresius’ head some prize in a race across Tatooine. The Rodian was terrified of his opponent, more than he was intent on winning the game. “ _That_ hunter is winning. I don’t stand a chance, not against that one,” the Rodian whined. Hells, Rodian whining was beyond painful to listen to, Tyresious thought. And seriously, winning what? As if there was anything of Tyresius worth calling a prize to anyone, mind you. He would say so given the chance, damn it. The whole fucking thing was a disaster. And really damned unfair, if you asked him.

A true angry brute. That’s what this other bounty hunter coming after him just had to be, Tyresius thought. Mind you, the Rodian was a slight thing. And green. Maybe it wasn’t really too hard to scare one of them. Who knew what was normal for Rodians, anyway? Rodians themselves, at least. But more regular and normal people might just be terrifying to the typical Rodian, maybe.

No, what made Tyresius fairly certain the other bounty hunter was someone fierce and big and fucking brutish was far more, that the Mandalorian who warned him of the Hunt was so much worried about the bastard, rather. That Tarro Blood guy used words like “doesn’t ever give up” and “can’t be killed, no matter what I do” whenever he spoke of the bounty hunter. Crap messages like that didn’t sit well in Tyresius’ little Devaronian heart. Either one of them, actually.

Ty could disregard the trembling form of a little green Rodian. A worried-assed Mandalorian was something else altogether.

Yea, Tyresius was positive the bounty hunter was a huge, scary savage thing. Maybe the hunter had big teeth, even. A Trandoshan, maybe! Didn’t Trandoshans eat the people they hunted down? Yes! They just spit them over fires, still alive and kicking, right before they hunkered down to consume them. Tyresius shuddered, his red-skinned frame shaking hard for a long moment, until that tough, muscled guard he hired leaned over to query, "You okay, boss?" Ty just shrugged, craning his neck to look past the humans standing in front of him in the line for transport off-planet.

Come on! Why did it take so long to push one damn button on a person's records so they could get their asses off a stupid world? He sighed roughly and reached up to rub the rolled skin just under his horn again. Trying to still the still-pounding pulse of pain against the back of his skull, at least. That wasn’t working, either.

Just then someone poked his arm, and Tyresius spun around in gasping shock. How’d she get so close? Why pay for guards who let strange women just wander up to him in the middle of a fucking crowded spaceport? Or at least they should’ve said something! Damn thuggish fools! Ty shot the two humans he hired only the swiftest glance, saw them looking at the two females standing there in front of him with nervous attention. He almost asked them if humans were always so scared of the female members of their species.

"You go by the name of Gellar Roing, here?"

Ty turned back to look back at the woman who remained there, prodding him. She was a rather striking creature, for a human. Her teeth were the same blunted blocks so common to humans, rather than sharply pointed like more beautiful Devaronian females. But her hair was richly dark, black and thick like the night sky over Tatooine. And Ty preferred night-time on Tatooine – when it was finally flat-out cold and somewhat comfortable on the world.

The woman’s hair fell against her jaw, neatly obscuring what he realized were a series of cruel scars running along the side of her face down and across her neck. Ah, damn. There’s a bit of trauma that would’ve fucking hurt like hells, Ty thought.

Then he glanced down and noted the rough edges of her armor and the pair of blasters perched on her sweetly curved hips.

Yea, every blasted god in the universe was really pissed at him. Really, really pissed.

Although there was something nice about facing a woman bent on killing him who at least looked better than the brute he was imagining. Certainly made him wonder what was so worrisome, that Tarro Blood was concerned. You would think Blood would manage to take down one single female. Hells, she even had nicely-shaped tits! Not even the hard, metal armor that covered her shapely torso managed to hide the attractive female form of the bounty hunter’s body.

Tyresius Lokei was an excellent judge of people’s shapes. You could tell a lot about a person just from how they angled their frames and bent their heads – body language talked, mind you! Tyresius figured he was just never wrong.

Well. Mostly never wrong. All right. _Sometimes_ he wasn't wrong. Dammit!

Tyresius effected the most properly dramatic smile he could manage, baring his sharp Devaronian teeth through all their pearly shine: "Hello! Yes, Gellar Roing is my name! Has been all my life! You in the market for a new land speeder? I can give you a sweet deal, or my name's not Gellar Roing!" The loud, singsong routine rang through the dry space around the spaceport’s counters, and left not some several of the nearby travelers wincing. But Ty only hoped the woman bounty hunter would buy the idiotic nonsense long enough, or that some passerby might be fooled and step in the way, even.

But no. Because the gods were still fairly pissed at him, obviously. The hunter just rolled her eyes and reached up to curl her arms across her chest with studied nonchalance as she sighed in an aside towards her companion, "Typical. Can’t even count on a sweet deal on a speeder today, Mako, huh? Gellar Roing, my ass." The woman smirked over at him, shaking her dark head as the little darker-skinned woman behind her huffed a sour laugh. Tyresius could tell they really were both amused at the ploy, even if they still stood there determinedly intent in front of him. He felt a twinge of real anxiety; these females were not anything like the Rodian hunter from earlier.

Tyresius nearly shot the giggling little female a glare, before remembering to pretend shock and surprise, "Well, I don't know what you mean. I'm most definitely Gellar Roing. It's the only name I have. Have ever had. Errr, and who are you?" Tyresius considered biting off the edge of his overlong tongue as he listened to himself stammering. Stammering! Certainly not one of his best performances, sheesh!

"Give me a break, Tyresius. I'm a hunter and you're a bounty. We were plain destined to meet."

"Tyresius? Who's Tyresius?"

"You've got to the count of three, Tyresius."

Tyresius gaped at the bounty hunter. She really was going to shoot him! Seriously shoot him, right here and now! She didn’t even blink, she was so certain! What the hell did he do to deserve this nonsense? Well, he did shoot quite a few Mandalorians during that little adventure with Hylo at the Hydian Way battle. Oh, and then he helped the Republic fleet nearby blow up a few Mandalorian cruisers, too. But you'd think they would've gotten over it by now, at least! It was so many years ago! The woman in front of him was probably a tiny, little baby at the time!

He looked around madly, vaguely noting how various people were suddenly running out from the line where they had been crowding him all the damn morning, all of them yelling and stumbling over themselves to get away. Bastards, he thought suddenly. Couldn't be moved with a crowbar when their moving might have done him some good. But _now_ that he could've used a helping hand – heh! – there they went!

"Look, you have me all wrong!" Tyresius glared at his guards suddenly, the stupid fools still standing there stunned as they realized so achingly slow that he was being threatened right there in front of everybody, witnesses be damned! Ty stabbed the air in front of him with a long, sharply pointed red finger, "What did I ever do to deserve this shit? Argh! Is there some reason I have to spell it out for you idiots? Shoot her! Both of them, dammit!"

Tyresius was running even before the first shot went off. He didn’t stop to watch, to look back. He just took off, barreling around whoever was stupid enough to get in his way. Behind him came several rough shouts and a couple female calls, the bounty hunter was yelling, "Dammit, the fucking target is running away! Mako! Shit!" But he didn't stop, didn’t look. Ty just ran! He pushed people out of his way, rushing for the doors to the spaceport.

Then he was outside. He stopped briefly, only because the heat of the outside air sucked the breath right out of his lungs for a moment. Or maybe it was because he was hyperventilating, too. Maybe if he keeled over dead right in front of the doors the bounty hunter would finally stop chasing him. Although with his luck, she would just follow him straight away to whatever hell followed dying, too. To please whatever god was compelling her at this point, that she was bedeviling him so much. Didn’t fucking matter in the end, though. It only proved he was doomed to a slow, torturous, and excruciating rush towards his final moments!

Damn it! He trotted away from the spaceport, making his slow, painful way towards the speeder he abandoned in his hurry towards the spaceport, back when he was still certain he wouldn’t need it once he was off and away from Tatooine.

Well, that plan was a bust. Now he was stuck with one last alternative. Only because he wouldn't be able to count on really using his own ship anymore. Not after he gave it to the dumb-assed Rodian. Although the green alien was smart enough to judge that hunter back there, he thought, shuddering.

Tyresius rolled his shoulders, trying to calm his breathing. He needed to calm himself. Because you didn't go to the Lady of Pain for a favor without giving her something in return.

He was stuck. Between two pretty females, both of whom seemed to be unafraid and perfectly willing to straight-off rip his horns right from the top of his head.

Fuck the gods. He was already in hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devaronians were definitely one of the more interesting species in Star Wars lore. They showed a huge degree of gender dimorphism, meaning the males and females didn't look much alike at all. Males were generally red skinned, with long long tongues, and a pair of horns that extended from the tops of their heads. Females, on the other hand, were fur-covered, usually white or brown in color. The females were also more docile than the males, although they took on more leadership roles in Devaronian society. It was the females who ruled, taking more prominent roles in government and family, than males did.
> 
> Also of interest. The first appearance of a Devaronian is in the cantina scene from Episode 4 "A New Hope". Apparently, the costume department ran out of alien costumes that day of filming. So they used a devil costume for one of the extras in the scene, rather.


	34. Veedoo Shot First

It was the heat that did it, really. _That’s_ what plain ruined Kastiel’s truly good mood and temperament after landing on Tatooine.

Yea. Up until she set foot outside the spaceport doors and felt the first swell of oven-blasted heat wash over her, Kastiel stayed happy enough. Crap, not even watching the Devaronian Crista had called “slippery as water-logged nerfshit” running his narrow-assed self out the same doors into this scalding oven of an outside was quite enough to ruin the bubbling feeling of satisfaction that settled in Kastiel’s belly back on Dromund Kaas.

Torian. His name hummed against the back of her mind, sang through her consciousness whenever she stopped long enough to really think. Hells, she even managed to fall asleep the night before, without using a single stim or suffering one damned nightmare!

But the heat of Tatooine was so shocking it blasted Kastiel's ability to continue her meandering thoughts about finding the Mandalorian she looked for so damn much of her life since she was six years old. Tormented wonderings, where he was. Was he grown, or gone? Had he died, maybe? Because Mandalorians fought so hard, so often and died so much young as a result. Through battle, with enemies and trophy foes that snarled and bit them to pieces, even.

It’s why Kastiel spent so much of her growing-up years close, nearby to the Enclave on Dromund Kaas. Only watching, waiting as the warriors came and went through the wide doors, hoping for some small sight of the blonde-haired boy she remembered. Tobie assumed her fascination lay in the Mandalorians themselves, in their language and their mannerisms that were so much different than the Empire which made her. And watching them so often was enough to leave her curious, interested and ultimately marveling. But it was _him_ , even more than anything else. Torian was the one she wanted, so she looked for him always.

Something broke in her, when she had to _stop_ looking. When she left Dromund Kaas. It felt, like she was leaving him there. Giving up any chance of finding him. Except she had to make for her brother to be safe, had to fight for Khyriel that much. So she went, climbing into the belly of some far-off vessel and heading the way Braden told her.

She went. Without even learning _his_ name. It was like leaving behind every dream she ever made and held onto, since the first time the Mandalorian woman pulled her mother’s shattered form from over her and she saw that helmet looming over her. But she wouldn’t let Khyriel bleed anymore, damn them.

Even if she was lost in being so alone, even as she marched through fights and challenges everywhere she turned – because every blasted mercenary and hired gun thought the tender-aged human girl with broken ears was an easy pushover and tried thumping their chests in her face over and over. They barked dire threats, laughed over the curves that marked her female and told her how she might be used and what she was good for; they swore what parts of her body they would take apart, how hard she would bleed, and what trophies her head might make them; and all of them paid roughly for the challenges they made. Because Kastiel’s place was still lost back in that Enclave and none of them were worth so damned much as the small chance she could at least save her own brothers, her own sisters. Just keep them safe.

Maybe the grief ached in her, drove her to screaming out from the dark of nighttime and its terrible dreams. They were only dreams. She knew that!

But they were the worstly dim, shadowed shapes from her life's most awful moments. That she could not keep from remembering. Not like the memories faded away, not in _her_ mind, not ever. They just played out over and over again, brightly red and just as loud as the pain that ripped away all the sounds of her experience and her mother’s blood was running down into her own eyes and mouth as she tried screaming. She wanted someone to find her, pull her out from the pain and the dark. But she couldn’t see him, not when she twisted there in the darkness and not when she woke yelling out and crying from the pain and the fear, either. She didn’t even know what name to yell for!

Until Crysta gave it to her, smirking the while and thinking … Well, Kastiel wasn’t certain what Crysta was thinking, other than whatever cutesy illusion was flitting through her banter with Mako right then. All Kastiel understood was his name, finally. She knew she finally found him, and the soothing rhythm of that knowing only played in her mind over and over. A litany that soothed her long-ago little girl pain and hurt, so she didn’t feel so lost suddenly and the world wasn’t so much dark anymore.

Then Kastiel stepped outside the Tatooine spaceport, and not even Torian’s name could save her from the shock. She actually stumbled as the heat rose up to singe the back of her throat and her skin quite literally turned a brilliant, vivid red almost instantly. Kas gasped a dire complaint sideways towards Mako, “What. The. Fuck. I feel like someone put me on a sheet inside some box designed to bake me into a blasted roast.” She sniffed and regretted it instantly, when the burning hot sand burned away the delicate mucous lining the inside of her nostrils, “This fucking planet is cursed.”

Mako smiled grimly at Kastiel. "Never been to Tat, huh?"

"That’s why we make such an awesome team, Mako. You totally get me. But make a note, we’re not staying long. That Devaronian’s horns need to be in my bag before my skin bakes clean off my bones,” Kastiel swore, fighting to breathe in slowly enough the softer tissues of her nose and throat didn’t wither into sweltering dryness. She bent her head, thinking. "Mako, add that rule to any listing that brings me to Tatooine, that the jobs pay double just for the effort of coming through the doors of the spaceport. This place sucks balls."

Mako stopped trying to keep from laughing, as Kastiel spluttered some more in sheer vexation. She did manage to ignore the dark, dangerous look the bounty hunter slanted in her direction, though. No one ever called Mako stupid, though, and she chuckled, “Let’s just find the bum-sucker of a Rodian that Lokai bribed so well. Name’s Veedoo … Hey, you think the name sounds more like a droid, than otherwise? Maybe it’s a designation, more than a name.”

"Droids wouldn't mess up a bounty as bad as this Veedoo did.” Kastiel seemed to be regaining her footing as she started moving through Mos Ilsa’s narrow corridors and pathways that seemed almost carved from the looming crags of brown and red rocks overhead, “Only reason Tyresius didn’t run off in the stupid ship the fool of a Veedoo traded him, was that he didn’t have the fuel rods he needed. What kind of a damned hunter blows-off a bounty that damned bad?” A gust of wind suddenly swirled up from their feet, until sand and grit quashed the sound of Kastiel’s voice back into her throat again and she coughed, wondering if the planet itself was trying to choke her to death, “Fuck it. We’ll take Veedoo out past the rocks of this town and dump him, if he’s stupid enough to hold out on us, Mako. Got no patience for shit from chicken-assed Rodian lizards today.”

Mako bent her head forward to avoid the swirling dust devils, "Find us a sarlacc! I hear there’s one nearby, here on Tatooine."

"What the hell is that?"

"Some kind of plant thing. Has a nest of some sort out in the Dune Sea. They say it consumes you over thousands of years, slowly and terribly digesting you."

Kastiel harrumphed with disdain, "Don’t figure a Rodian would be over-tasty to some dumb plant thing. They’re pretty skinny, as a general rule of thumb. And scaly, to boot. Likely not enough meat to satisfy a hungry vegetable, leastwise."

Mako huffed out a laugh, but the sand was really starting to twist against them by then. Kastiel coughed, pointing, and the two women began rushing and following along with most of the locals around them. Everyone was hunting shelter from the growing hard drive of the wind and sand. Kastiel shouted out, “Cantina, Mako!” She grabbed Mako’s slender arm, yanking her along and towards the doors. Only they were both pretty much pushed through as the crowd of bodies compelled them through the entrance, with all its glittering lights and colors that kept twinkling even through the rising force of the dust-storm.

Several resounding cheers echoed through the place and not some few warbling roars, too; as various species celebrated finding shelter in time enough. Kastiel shook her dark head, watching in bemused wonder as a puddle of sand appeared on the floor at her feet and she wondered if her own hair was plain brown from the amount of sand caking it. She glanced at Mako again, "I said it, right? This planet still sucks."

Mako nodded back at her, her olive-toned features looking as ghost-brown as Kastiel’s hair probably. Kastiel playfully grabbed Mako’s shoulders to shake her roughly for a long moment, watching the sand rise up over Mako’s head in a brief, brown cloud as the cyborg yelped aloud, “Ass! Leave off, Kas, damn it!” They were just about amused enough to laugh at the sheer madness of the adventure. Except that the singsong tones of Rodese peeled out across the long line of cantina floor just then, "Yea! Shake yourself, sweetheart! Come on, that's right! Show us what you got! Everyone! Get the Surprises and Sunburns while the liquor's still flowing!

Kastiel turned her head sharply, frowning over at her once-rival in the Hunt. The Rodian was just as skinny and scaly as she had imagined, his green lizard frame bouncing up and down atop some rather plush-looking cushions in some fancy chair against the back wall. Not that he noticed her and Mako, either. Stupid lizard-brains was too busy watching some blue-skinned Twi’lek with an over-large pair of breasts gyrate and twist in playing rotations there in front of him, than to note a pair of bounty hunters coming through the doors just then. Damned reptile even kept a liberal pile of credits stacked right there on the table beside him, as if painting a sign around his neck to read, “I’m a stupid shit – kill me now and steal my creds.” Kastiel snorted in resigned disgust.

Mako muttered to her, as she followed Kastiel’s gaze, "Hey, I don't know. Veedoo seems drunk enough he could make even a sarlacc piss itself from inebriation. Want to test it out?"

"Not interested in dragging him through that blasted storm outside, rather,” Kastiel looked down to check her blasters against her hips, the turn and feel of her armor against her belly. She breathed in, testing the dryness of the air against the sour stench of so many species and bodies gathered in one confined space. And her eyes narrowed dangerously, “Might as well content myself planting a fist into his damned green face a few times instead." Kastiel stalked towards the Rodian, moving slowly and Mako stepped carefully behind her, watching the bending forms of the crowd for any threats to Kastiel’s back. They both saw when the Rodian noticed them coming.

Least Veedoo’s instincts seemed pretty good, Kastiel thought. He actually tensed against his seat and sat straighter when he caught sight of her armored form moving through the crowd. Likely he had heard rumors of her motions in the Hunt, enough he recognized her by mere sight. Maybe he was just decent enough a hunter to notice when he suddenly became the prey, though.

The twi’lek impressed her even more, practically skipping to move from out of her way as Kastiel stopped in front of the little green figure sitting on his pretty pillows. Kastiel very nearly laughed as she considered calling him a frog, that could be kissed and turned into a handsome hero from one of her mother’s old stories. This dumb fool was no hero. And she wouldn’t insult frogs, either.

But the twi’lek seemed smart enough to see the impending violence for what it was, even if she did try moving as if unconcerned. A practiced attempt designed to keep emotionally-charged customers from flat-out losing it. Kastiel almost shook her head and told her she was doomed to disappointment. Veedoo was too much a frantic little frog to prevent this scene from turning bloody very shortly, Kastiel thought.

Veedoo chirruped at her, using those strange Rodian tones so common to their language. Least he didn’t fall back on using the translator, easily remembering that Kastiel was known for speaking quite a few languages without relying on the devices. He practically sang to her, "Hey, I recognize you. Saw some vids of your melee fight on Dromund Kaas." Veedoo tried appearing casual and unafraid. Although it didn’t work even as well as the dancer’s peacemaking gestures, either. Mostly because Veedoo’s Rodian scales lightened until he looked more yellow than green as he sat there, than anything else. That, and his two antennae were shaking there against his skull. Kas wondered if he was going to puke.

"Well, you stink. And not just because you're a rodian, either. Crap, I might overlook that much, Veedoo. ‘Cause Rodians are supposed to stink; they can’t help it!” Kastiel leaned closer, her brown eyes narrowing dangerously in her face, “But to let Tyresius live – worse, to let him get away! – that's just not how we do things. You know that." Veedoo scowled at her, making the round green of his snout quiver against the lower part of his face. The circle that counted as his mouth actually seemed to thin into a neat, straight line even.

"Hah! Like I’m going to win the stupid Hunt!” Veedoo might have started crying then, if Rodians could manage tears. He did adopt a properly pathetic-sounding warble at least. Kastiel was disgusted enough her gaze went stony and cold as he began to whine at her, “What was a I supposed to do, just wait for you to blast me like you did the Eidolon? Do I look stupid to you? I grabbed the credits the Devaronian gave me, hell yea! Even after you win, I got a better payoff than you ever will! So _I'm_ the better hunter, no matter what those stupid Mandoes say!"

Kastiel smirked at him, slanting a glance around the room of the dusty cantina, and all the people still shaking sand loose from their clothes, their hair. She chuckled sarcastically, "And here I still managed finding you, sitting on your scaled ass in this oven of a world. Definitely proved something, you’re right."

Veedoo shrugged, snorting through that absurd snout of his, "I've ordered a new ship. A nice one! A real Corellian yacht, that won’t take long to get here and then I can go anywhere, hide from the Mandoes forever if I want. That Tyresius gave me enough credits, and all he got from me was a broken-down ship that still needs fuel and parts before it can move. No way the Lady of Pain will help him, either, no matter what he says!” Kastiel leaned her weight onto one hip, crossing her arms over her chest as she shook her head in his direction.

“You’re an idiot, lizard brains,” Kastiel tapped her fingers along the metal edge of her bracer. “I shut down the spaceport. To Tyresius, at least. He’ll hightail it to this Pain Lady straight-away; he’s got nowhere else to go. Where is she?”

Veedoo snortled at her. That’s the only way to describe the disgustingly wet, mucous sound that came out of his mouth then. Kastiel just about gave up the attempt to talk to him then, except maybe he would say something else similarly dumbass enough to spell out a direction for her to look for the Devaronian. Veedoo seemed amused enough to spill plenty of beans, at least, “No way the Lady of Pain will grant you a favor. She especially hates female-types; can’t convince them to play her sick games. I would like seeing what she would do to you, except Tyresius gave me enough credits I hired some help. You’re finished, hunter. Hah!” Kastiel sighed as he motioned so tellingly with his thin green hand, and she sensed the shifting motions of what had to be thugs from behind her.

Kastiel looked askance at Mako, "What did you call it again? A sarlacc? How long did the things masticate their meals?" Mako raised up her voice, loud enough that several loitering denizens of the cantina started scrambling to get out from the way of the pending violence.

"Dune Sea. Probably get a speeder out. I heard the Imperials set up a series of outposts near there, even. Doubt there’s a single officer among them who’d care if we lugged this green bastard out there, tied and gagged."

Veedoo turned yellow again and trilled a cry of alarm, pointing at them, "Kill them both! Dammit, hurry!"

Kastiel spun quickly, like a blur, literally grabbing the barrel of the rifle one of the thugs was pointing at her back. She simply yanked the weapon out of his hands, heard him cry out in shocked dismay. Then Kastiel threw the weapon straight at his face, caught him hard across the very center of his nose. He yelped wetly, as blood streamed down from his nose into his wide-open mouth. But there was no time for anyone to help him, as Kastiel followed the blow with a bolt she sent flying into his throat next and he fell backwards in a straight heap. He lay on the floor then, in a gross spread eagle position, the last bits of his air gurgling bloodily from his mouth as he died fast.

Mako was shouting as she turned around to loose a rough kick into the soft, vulnerable groin of the goon that tried looming over her back. That guy didn’t even manage a yell, as he curled inward and whined piteously as he reached down to grab the agonized swell of his testicles. It was far enough he was leaning, and Mako’s blaster bolt caught him against the neat side of his temple. He fell sideways in a bloody heap of dying human, his blood pooling out from around the new hole in his head. Mako spun back around, then.

Veedoo was jumping up and down wildly, his blaster blazing wildly in a wide circle. He was blind-panicked, enough that even the locals were yelling curses his way, ducking down behind tables and counters. Loud shouts filled the space, “Kill the fucking lizard! Fucking lizard! Stop shooting at all of us!”

Kastiel moved fast, almost seeming to poise so steady and real as she raised both her blasters. Her first shot took Veedoo's right antennae off, so it went flying like a flaming missile towards the twi'lek dancer now huddled down behind Veedoo's bench. The twi'lek screeched when the thing smacked against her blue cheek and plopped down onto the floor. Kas' second shot smashed into his face, just under one of his big black insect-like eyes. Green blood burst from his face and he shrieked one last pitifully shrill sound before dying.

Damned little bastard actually crumbled down over the table piled with credit chips then, so that his thickly green blood splattered the things. Figures, Kastiel thought with snide resignation. But her bankers would likely accept the chips regardless. Blood, or not.

Kastiel inclined her chin towards Mako, gesturing towards the pile of credits. Mako didn’t take long enough to return the gesture, just rushed over to the table to actually push Veedoo’s skinny frame hard enough he flew down onto the floor in a rush of grisly wet sound. Like dropping a pile of wet dishcloths onto the tiles, maybe. It sounded just as pathetic as his living seemed, Kastiel thought. But Mako didn’t stop, just quickly gathered what was left of Veedoo’s loot.

Kastiel actually considered for the briefest moment waiting on Tatooine long enough to claim Veedoo’s new ship, too. But her own Bad Boy was too much growing on her by now, than to take over some fancy yacht instead. The Bad Boy was cleaner than when she’d stolen it, even. And it wouldn’t earn so much attention as a yacht, either.

And just then Veedoo's antennae came flying through the air to fall down at her feet with another sodden plop of sound. Kastiel stared down at the thing for a moment before she turned to regard the dancer who threw it at her. The woman was crying angrily - grumbling out how she should've taken up some smuggler's offer and left Tatooine, that no job was worth what she had to contend with in this particular cantina. Oh, and that rodians reeked. Kas bit her lip to keep from smirking in the irate twi’lek’s face, blithely watching as the woman began pacing back and forth from sheer angry agitation and kept right on ranting.

"As if I'd give a rat's ass what the Lady of Pain did to any Devaronian! I worry about me! My ass! Not some stupid Devaronian's! Shit! Stinking Rodian! And their damn tentacles, too."

"That was an antennae, actually. Not a tentacle," Kas toed the thing with one of her hard boots, shrugging.

"Who cares? It smelled just as bad as he did!"

"Hey, I'll get rid of it. Even pick it up and toss it in the trash bin on my way out the door. _If_ you tell me how to find this Lady of Pain."

The twi'lek glared at her, "Why should I bother?"

"Because. If you don't. Well, then one of your lekku might end up in the same trash chute as the Rodian's antennae."

Mako bit her lip to keep from laughing when the twi'lek stopped suddenly and eyed Kastiel through bright, purple eyes that circled from shock and anxious wondering if she would really do it. The dancer pulled her lower lip between her teeth, trying to still it from quivering, and she gently grasped the very end of one of her own head tails, fingering it softly, “Will you really do that? Look, I’m just a dancer. I just dance.”

"Yea, I saw you dancing. Bet you've been dancing here longer than I've been shooting Rodians, mind you. So maybe you know about the Lady of Pain, huh?" Kastiel sighed dramatically, appearing to grow impatient. Mako noticed several onlookers holding their breaths, waiting to see if the bounty hunter would continue the shooting.

The dancer's trembling grew worse, "Shit! Just don't kill me! Look, I danced for the Lady of Pain one time. Once! She gave me the creeps, so I never went back.” The dancer inhaled raggedly, trying to appear brave enough, “I do know she has a fancy compound in one of the more dangerous areas of the desert. Works for the Exchange. They do a lot of sick things around here. Better to avoid them, I'm telling you."

Kastiel shrugged with real and unaffected lack of concern, "I've had some dealings with the Exchange before. Where's this compound?"

"South. Just past that new Imperial outpost they put out there. Please! I'm pretty sure I sprained something when I jumped behind the bench. Will you let me go? Please!"

Kas pointed, watching as Mako reached out to hand over a few of Veedoo’s credit chips to the dancer, "Sure thing. Here. Tatooine sucks balls, been saying it since we landed. Get out of her, maybe."

The woman was still hesitant to step closer to them. But she eventually snatched the credits out from Mako’s slender palm. They both watched the her limp away, clutching her cash and mumbling about finding a new job somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Tatooine.

Kastiel lifted her chin as the twi'lek left, and she smiled, "Maybe that’s what we should add to my listing. Tell everyone what amazing career opportunities I can make going along. Hey, I’m good!"

Mako chuckled, "Not sure I’d say _that_ much, Kas. But you’re definitely good enough, at least."


	35. A Pain in my ...

Tatooine was really not so far a cry from her native Ratattak, the Lady thought. She gazed around her aloofly, looking almost bored and indifferent as the Devaronian took to even more ostentatious promises if she would only assist him in leaving the planet. She very nearly smiled over his desperation, thinking how dry and cruel a world Rattatak could be; so much more cruel than the lackadaisical wretches scraping lives out from the rocks of Tatooine every day. The Devaronian should count his blessings to be here instead, she considered telling him.

Because what she wanted from him, really – especially as he whined and cajoled in ever-increasingly nasal tones that grated on her thinning patience – was to finally see what he might look like if she ripped his horns off the top of his head. She actually eyed him appraisingly then, trying to visualize his head with two obscene founts of blood on the front of his head, spewing thick blood that coated his shoulders and the floor all around him, even. Wouldn't even be the first time the floor was soaked with some creature's blood, although Devaronian blood would be a first. Devaronians were somewhat unusual on Tatooine, and she never had a Devaronian here long enough to compete in her arena.

Maybe she could make some use of this … What _was_ his name? Gellar something-something … She canted her head thoughtfully as she regarded the Devaronian. He wouldn't win her any prizes in the arena, rather. Although the pack of massifs she kept penned and hungry nearby could be put to use bleeding him, especially if she tossed him into the arena with blood coming from torn-off horns. She could even use his horns as decoration along her wall – over the dining table, maybe. She couldn't see him useful for much else, anyway. A merchant? Bah! Shredding him was the best she could hope for, really.

He perked up when he noted her sudden appraisal, and she smiled in his direction. She eyed his horns tellingly, watched as he noted the direction of her gaze and then saw his eyes narrow. Considering the calculated consideration she saw there, the way that he blanched so slowly – he would likely collapse into tears and sobs if she really told him her entire plans.

The winds suddenly swirled through the courtyard just then, reminding the Lady she really was going to lose to her latest challenger in the arena. All because her champion fighter was fool enough to die in the recent storms; after getting lost in the blinding, swirling sands the storms kicked up so viciously. Until he stumbled right into the path of a troop of those Sand People. They spent hours pelting her compound's walls with the pieces of his body.

Blasted idiot. He should have known better than to get himself torn apart before making a good show of it to her guests, at least. Or killed the primitive natives beforehand, even better. Both! Now that would have been spectacular; would have been fighting a noble battle until tragically overcome under vast hordes of Sand People. And all of it in the arena, of course.

Instead, she was here, suffering the cloying ministrations of this sycophantic red-skinned Devaronian while that bastard Fel Dargun paraded his pig-Gamorrean prize fighter near the doors. If she had to listen to Dargun crow the pig's name one more time – Borga, Borga, Borga! – if she had hair she would yank it out from frustration! It was just … intolerable.

Not that this truly pathetic Gellar fellow was singing Borga's praises, either. She really did yawn when the Devaronian offered her a bundle of slaves. Slaves! As if she didn't already own truckloads of slaves from all over the galaxy! The Lady even said so, her patience wearing so thin she didn't even manage to croon the warning tone. But she was watching him then, and that's why she spotted the way he turned practically orange from anxious dismay as he gaped over at the compound's entrance.

What could possibly have gotten the idiot to finally shut up, she wondered. The Lady turned to look over at the doorway and saw a bounty hunter standing there, framed perfectly in the entranceway. The woman was human enough, though cybernetic implants scored her cheeks just under her dark eyes. She was subtly smoothing her boots against the dust that gathered along the ridge of the door, trying to clear her footwear of more obvious blood splotches. Then she turned her dark, dark eyes towards the Devaronian, and the very corner of her mouth twitched with the smallest hint of a smile just before she looped her arms into a cross over her chest.

The Lady felt heat bloom into full-blown desire low in her belly. Some people would have called it sexual excitement, a pure thrill of lustful determination and sheer want. But the Lady knew it was so much more. It was the complete thrill of finding a prize, rather.

And _she_ was holding the price. How amusing, the Lady thought.

Oh, Fel Dargun was going to want this one so badly, want her a part of his stable of champion fighters. She'd be quite enough to tempt him into offering her a favor, even. Maybe one of her newest pets, perhaps. He certainly eyed that young human she smuggled out from Nar Shaddaa before the Republic learned their Soldiers were being enslaved out from under their noses; the pretty dark-skinned one with strikingly pale eyes. The Lady hadn't yet broken him in to her own tastes – all that independence the Republic seemed so keen on made him stubborn – but she refused to let Fel Dargun have the delicious chore for his own.

Gellar Roing muttered darkly when the hunter stepped forward, "Oh, just great flaming gods. Why can't I catch a single break lately?" The Lady smiled, actually enjoying the first spurt of pleasure the day had managed providing. Besides … the hunter's arrival seemed to finally make the Devaronian shut up.

The bounty hunter moved confidently across the inner space of the entranceway, not stopping until she stood firmly in front of the Lady. She smirked only sideways towards the guards who ringed behind the Lady in a strong showing of solid threat. The Lady murmured to her sultrily, canting her hips seductively as she waited, "I do believe my guards like you, actually. They barely blinked the entire time Gellar Roing, here, was blathering. But they actually jump as soon as you step through the doors."

The Lady glanced at the small female who was following the hunter, too. Both the women were dark-haired, and pockmarked with cybernetic implants. The little one was probably an effective-enough slicer, if the hunter was keeping her close at-hand. That one stood off behind the hunter and scanned the guards, the room, and the Lady herself with long, methodical precision; obviously assessing the lot of them for threat. The Lady didn't think they were actually related, and never mind how easily confused humans really were, all looking so much alike with their darker complexions than any Rattataki.

But the hunter's skin was so much more pale, and slightly chapped by sun damage around her lips. The Lady didn't imagine them birthing from between the same woman's thighs. They might share a father, perhaps. They only didn't seem so much bonded as that, even if the hunter canted her body to better shield the smaller woman.

The guards had a rough fight on their hands if they wanted to lay hands to the little slicer, the Lady judged. The hunter would take each one of them apart if they tried. Oh, yea. She'd fight fierce as the hells themselves. The Lady wanted to crow and pump her fist into the air, as if she already beat Fel Dragan.

Then the hunter cocked her dark head slightly, smiling over at the Devaronian amusedly, "Still trying to buy your way out of trouble, huh, Tyresius? I'm actually wondering how many speeders you managed to sell, if this is how effective your sales pitch seems to be, really."

The Lady pursed her lips, startled as she realized how smoothly fooled you had been. She slid a dark glance at the Devaronian, his eyes sparking with rough anger now. The Lady effected a grim chuckle, "Tyresius? Tyresius _Lokei_? Oh, the Hutts would love to talk to you. You naughty Devaronian, hiding from them right here nearby without me knowing." She tsked sharply when he started some more spluttering nonsense, though. The Lady wasn't so much interested in him anymore, so she turned back to the hunter, "Is it the Hutts paying you?"

The hunter regarded the Lady with a shrewd look, "I don't work for the worms. No, it's the Clans that want him. Mako here tells me it has something to do with some battle during the last war."

"Ah, yes, with that fascinating Hylo Vysz. I'm surprised she's not your target. They were quite an item at the time, and it was Hylo that orchestrated the entire fiasco. Tyresius here left her high and dry, to pay for it all by her lonesome," the Lady purred slowly. Tyresius' face tightened even further, if it was possible. Not anger this time; if she had to guess, the Lady would say he was worried. How delightful.

The hunter shrugged both shoulders, "Not concerned what and why they want him. They're paying me, is all. You can certainly ask them if you like."

"But I'm in possession of the prize, am I not? Perhaps it's me they should be paying," the Lady smirked. But the hunter only narrowed her eyes shrewdly.

"You wouldn't accept money for Tyresius' horned mug of a head. What do you want from me?" Then she leaned closer, her eyes darkening slowly with promise, "Don't say anything bout the people I'm obliged to, either. You threaten my own, and I'll give you plenty of reasons to call yourself Pain from here on out."

The Lady smiled darkly, feeling an even stronger pulse of desire at the hot threat in the hunter's eyes. Like watching a kindling fire taking shape there; and how appealing could one single fighter really be, than this human? Perfection. She licked her lips, "You're right, of course. Credits are nasty. Not even the good sort of nasty, mind you. No, I prefer contests in the arena down below, and I have a challenger to contend with right now. But alas, my own champion found the local inhabitants to be less than hospitable, really. I need you to take his place."

The hunter snorted delicately, seemingly amused, "Blood sport, is all? Easy enough, then. I get Tyresius right after I fight in your blasted circle, and then we're done. You want this challenger dead, or only broken?"

Tyresius suddenly held up one pointed red finger, "Excuse me! I'd like to point out, that I am not some lousy thing to be bandied about like I was a speeder on my own lot. Come on!"

The Lady sniffed over at him with the purest disdain, shrugging one of her pale, delicate shoulders, "But of course you're only some minor thing, to be bought and sold. Whatever made you think you weren't? Mind you, I could introduce you to my massifs instead. I was considering it, before this hunter suddenly appeared. Would you like to make me a showing, Tyresius?"

Tyresius goggled at her, "Do I _look_ like I come from Geonosis, or something? Gladiatorial contests are not my forte, believe me."

"Which is why I'm negotiating with this fine specimen, rather. Now hush, Tyresius. You're boring me again."

He spluttered hard enough to leave spittle on the floor this time. But the Lady went back to ignoring him. The hunter was staring at her, her dark brown eyes shadowed and hard. She warned, "You get me to fight for you, that means the Devaronian stays in one piece. You or your people harm him, and I'll be really bothered. You do not want to bother me, Lady."

Tyresius quieted, turning his horned visage to look more clearly at the hunter. As if he was suddenly realizing the only way he was going to get out of this mess, was by jumping behind the very bounty hunter who chased him right through the nearby doors, in fact. Ah, what a funny little fellow, the Lady thought.

"So the Mandalorians want him alive? That's amusingly different for them," The Lady drawled.

But the Hunter only shook her head, "I don't discuss those kind of details, unless you're the one paying me. You're not. Just understand me, I fight for you and he stays intact. Got it?"

"By all means. I'll ensure he's kept wrapped up in cushioned cotton, if you would prefer." The Lady gestured towards her lead Guard, "Take Tyresius away and secure him. Be careful, too. He's … slippery."

The armed men reached out to grip the Devaronian's arm in rough fingers, yanking him hard enough he stumbled into place behind them. Tyresius shot the hunter a single glare, his pointed chin twitching angrily, "Damn you! What did I ever do to deserve you being such a pain in my ass?"

The hunter tilted her chin, "You want to stand here and talk some more about Hylo Vysz?"

"Shut up! I'll get you for this!"

"Hey, you won't even have to chase me down, Tyresius. I'll be right here."

The Lady smiled at her again, "Oh, you are delightful, hunter. And the best entertainment hasn't even begun."

* * *

Kastiel smoothed a gelatinous stim against the chapped skin along the curve of her jaw, deliberately ignoring the porcine glares and squeals coming from Borga. Just a huge, lumbering Gamorrean determined to keep her from nabbing a single, slippery as nerf-shit Devaronian.

She wasn't going to be writing home how incredible this Gamorrean was, either. Borga screamed "typical" to Kastiel. He only had seven morrts crawling along his thick green skin, marking him a relatively minor boar among his people. Crap! If he was anything more than a tusker, she would lose a real bet. Because any Gamorrean angling to become a warlord would've already earned more of those parasites used by the pig-people to demonstrate their status.

No, Borga was just some ordinary Gamorrean fighting as much to survive as anything. That patron of his, Fel Dargun, probably denied him meals even, in a sad bid to increase Borga's raging passion in the arena. Borga certainly did hang his head down whenever Dargun screamed for him to shut up. Which seemed to be a lot. Apparently oh-so-ignorant-human Dargun didn't realize Gamorrean squeals tended to steady them, focus their ferocity; a quiet Gamorrean was useless in the field.

Pitiful.

So Kastiel just ignored him and every one of the stamping motions he made with his thick, round feet. Just minor noise that served as much a backdrop as the Lady's boasting cries up there in her little box seat overlooking the circular arena. Just noise, that ranked right up there with the rest of the nonsense this planet tossed at her.

The Sand People, for instance. The creatures must reproduce by the bushel-full, she had remarked to Mako as they fought their way to the Lady's compound. Kastiel wasn't entirely sure what they looked like under those wraps and face coverings they used. But their shouts and cries created an incredible cacophony she still couldn't quite figure out. It had to be a language of some kind, with their every motion no matter how erratic they tried making – the Sand People still found them, before sending up whining screams that just plain attracted dozens more of them every time. But Kastiel wasn't able to translate their words or mannerisms, and the inability frustrated her.

She was actually tempted to stop and listen to them talk, rather than keep fighting them. Mako almost spit out of pure frustration, insisting it was insane. Mako was probably right, considering the Sand People chieftan they confronted in that one camp. Those two Mandalorians at the outpost the Imperials call Rennar said his name was Bloodgouge. Who was stupid enough to take on someone calling themselves Bloodgouge? Except for them, Mako snarled at her. Kastiel laughed though, "Nothing wrong with talking to them first, Mako!"

"Is this before or after they swing a stick at your head, Kas!"

"It's a stick. I have two blasters."

"Then use 'em and shut up!"

Kastiel leaned sideways now, thumping her shoulder against Mako's as they stood there on the ramp overlooking the Lady's arena. Mako grumbled slightly and then she elbowed Kastiel in return. Kas grinned, glancing at her friend as she checked the power levels of her blasters. Borga was still yelling. Something about using her innards to turn her into a puppet.

Kastiel grunted, "Hey, that's actually not a bad one, Mako. We should consider writing some of these threats down, even."

"So long as you don't let him do it."

Kas only blinked, as if she hadn't once considered she could lose to the Gamorrean. But she just rolled her head in a circle, stretching the muscles of her neck just before she stepped down off the ramp onto the sand-strewn ground of the arena. Borga was chomping his tusks and stamping both his feet, and Kastiel could hear Fel Dargun calling out with wild excitement from above them, "Do it, my beautiful boy! Take her down!" So Borga abruptly and stupidly leaped forward, rushing at her from across the wide arena like he was a bull charging. Kastiel only leaned back on her heels and waited.

Borga was huge - so big that his shadow stretched across the sand in front of him. Kastiel looked down, watching calmly as that looming shadow brushed the very top edges of her boots against the cream brown of the sand. She inhaled slowly, looking up just as Borga finally stretched tall over her, his arms held out wide with one single, terrible axe held up over his big, stupid-looking face.

Then Kastiel jumped!

She leaped sideways, rolling smoothly across the hot ground, the burning sand. Until she came back up onto both feet again with her arms up and straight in front of her and both her blasters steady. But Borga's momentum was still going strong and Kastiel stood there, watching silently as Borga ran straight forward to crash head-first into one of the metal legs holding up that metal ramp of the Lady's. The one where the fight's onlookers were all lined up and watching.

Borga's heavy impact against the pylon thumped with dull, pealing clarity through the air. The entire ramp shook and swayed, back and then forth again. Fel Dargun was screaming, and he ran like a rat might all along the edge of the ramp for whatever pitiful solid ground he could find.

The Lady, though? That one was perched on a bit of rocky outcropping looking out over the arena. Apparently she moved just when the Gamorrean started his charge, because she was safely standing far from the shaking ramp now and smiling tightly as Dargun rushed along like some shrieking woman fleeing an rodent. Wasn't _she_ a smart lady, Kas thought sarcastically.

Borga was groaning in pain now. Blood was streaming heavily from several deep gouges the broken edges of sharp metal had carved into his face. Even his thick tusks were stained pink, and he reeled in a circle spitting blood-splattered goo onto the ground. Kas stood there watching him, her head slanted sideways as she regarded him coolly when he lifted his large, round head to glare over at her again. She grunted, "Not fast enough, Borga."

Kastiel loosed a volley of shots. The bolts flew out in a furious storm from both her blasters. Kas' form stayed steady even as Borga's large ungainly body jerked and twisted from the pain of the bolts hitting him. One by one, as he took to squealing and screaming from the pain of the impact and blood flew up into the air. Kas only stopped when Borga went down to his knees, his beady pig-like eyes blinking confusedly as he looked back at her.

Then Borga toppled backwards. Like some ancient tree being felled by a huge primitive axe, maybe. When he collapsed, a thick cloud of sandy dust rose up into the air over him and the sound turned dull and heavy. Dargun took to crying. Crying real and pitiful tears, no less. "Borga! My sweet, precious boy! No! Oh no!" Kastiel sighed, before slowly wiping away the beads of sweat gathering against the curve of brow. She ignored Dargun's demented grief, and the Lady's taunting refrain towards him, "A delicious contest. I told you she would win, dear Fel Dargun."

Fel Dargun growled back at her, "This isn't over, Lady! I'll bring a _better_ champion next time! I swear it!"

"Of course you will. I'll be here, waiting breathlessly in the meantime. Really."

"You're a witch!"

The Lady laughed as he stomped away, smirking over towards Kastiel, "He has such sweet uses, that Fel Dargun. You should see him in the bedroom, bound and gagged while I lay a strap to his backside. Yum." The Lady smiled when Kas only shrugged, uncaring. "What? Doesn't stretch your fancy to have a man completely at your mercy; someone dominated by your strength and control?"

Kastiel frowned, "Not sure you'd be able to wrap your head around what turns me on, Lady. Might be better that way."

The Lady chuckled, "Oh, you _are_ quick. And not just with a blaster, either. I do like you. Pity you intend to leave me here, wallowing in loneliness."

"You'll survive, I'm sure."

"Of course. But it won't be half as much fun without you."

Kastiel shrugged, eyeing the Lady with shrewd query in her dark eyes, "I would've thought the entertainment I provided today far exceeded what you were hoping for, actually. Wasn't it enough?"

The Lady sighed an exasperated sound, "Enough is such a boring word. I don't like it over much. However, I promised you a prize." She looked at Kastiel, then, straightening into sudden seriousness. She even leaned forward in emphasis. Kas was almost impressed. "And I do not back down from my promises."

Kas followed the Lady as they moved back and through the doors that lead into the underground levels of the compound, where it was naturally cooler. Kastiel breathed slowly, remembering the stories of ages-old Tatooine when it was still green and jungles stretched across its surface instead of the dunes covering it now. Until some alien race came and wiped the planet free of every drop of water and most life, until it was all glass and crumbled into sand over the eons.

Kas watched the sand dusting up over the tops of her boots as she stepped along after the Lady, wondering if the sheen of the dust really did come come from some ancient glass, the remnants of that dying race. She shook her head, then looked forward to see the Lady sitting down at a table with classy poise. The Lady waved a pale hand towards her and Mako both, "You really do need to eat something before leaving, at least."

The Lady sipped a bit of wine from a slender glass while Kas found an easy place to sit. At a purposeful distance down the length of the table. Where the Lady wouldn't be able to touch her. Mako settled next to her while the Lady chuckled at them both.

The table was set with a relatively light meal. There was squill liver salad; along with selections of fruits, like pikas and podpoppers. All of it rested atop Tatooine flatbread, the biscuits so utterly common to the planet that Kastiel herself had a pouch full of the things in her own pack. She avoided the wine, too. She sipped some bantha blue milk, instead.

Kastiel was careful the Lady didn't see the stim she applied to her thigh under the table, before passing the syringe to Mako. No reason to outright insult one's host, she thought. Even if she was careful as shit to make sure the woman wasn't able to incapacitate either one of them with some carefully doctored poison. That, or kill them of course.

Although she suspected the woman wanted to keep them. Her, at least. She might assume Mako was expendable.

Either way Kastiel was careful to apply a real antidote to the both of them, and she hid her smile when the Lady frowned at them towards the end of the meal after whatever substance she put in the food – or drink … or both, actually – when it simply didn't work. The Lady proved herself oblivious to Kas' true skill set. As if she was nothing more than proficient with a pair of blasters, and not just as capable with her knowledge. She certainly didn't know the bounty hunter could fix shattered bones and wounded tissues, even better than she did breaking them. Hey, misapprehension always proved valuable.

"It's time for me to retrieve the Devaronian, Lady. It will be hard enough carrying him bound and gagged all the way to Mos Illa. I'd hate to do it in the dark, too," Kastiel leaned back, swallowing the last bit of squill in her mouth.

"The Sand People would surely appreciate saying hello to you," the Lady laughed tightly, even as she gestured towards one of her men.

"Yea, they proved real friendly as we were making our way here."

The Lady stared at her, "You fought Sand People to get here?"

Kastiel nodded, "Took the head of some chieftan called Bloodgouge. Tough bastard, too. But the bounty was pretty good. Those warriors even provided me a new piece of armor." Kastiel tapped the breastplate she was wearing, smiling as she regarded the thing's dull green and brown surface.

The Mandalorians had called it _beskar_ , said it was "real Mandalorian armor, worthy of a true warrior". Kas had nodded solemnly at them, just before yanking off her old piece and donning the new one, right there in front of them. The one called Dorrik had approved, grunting at her, "Yea, it fits you. Like it was made for you, even." Mako had thumped her on the back, then, too, chirping, "Almost makes carrying that fellow's head back here worth it, huh, Kas?"

But the Lady was still staring at her, frowning, "Sand People are hardy savages. I've never heard of someone fighting them so ably as to take down one of their toughest chieftans."

Kas nodded simply, "Yea, he gave me a real hard fight."

"Incredible," the Lady tapped her chin. She was perturbed as she considered that this incredible prize was certain to walk out her door in just a few moments. Walk out the door, because she was suddenly positive any further attempts to change that would have to involve violence. Violence that would almost certainly end with her lying dead on the floor. This hunter simply wasn't to be trifled with, she decided.

Which made it the worst sort of luck for the guard who came rushing into the room just then, because the Lady was already upset even before he rushed up to her. Might be why he took to trembling so hard, then. Although Kastiel's presence prevented any overt damage done to him. Kas imagined the Lady would take some delight in punishing him for being the bearer of bad news after she left.

Kas noticed his agitation. But only barely. Mostly because she was biting her lip against the sheer amusement this Tyresius continued providing to her. She smiled, muttering towards Mako, "That slippery son of a bitch is really beginning to impress me, Mako." Mako grumbled, shaking her head so the braided tendrils of her hair swept back behind her ears again, "Only you'd be happy about this, Kas. Gods, you're weird."

The Lady was growling through clenched teeth at her guard, "What do you mean the Devaronian escaped? I watched you search him for hidden weapons myself!" The guard had gone down to kneel onto one knee as he begged the Lady.

"He had a false horn! There was a stun grenade stuffed inside his fucking head! Err, horn, I mean." He gulped, looking over at the bounty hunter and her companion, as if for safety. She only rolled her eyes back at him. He tried licking his lips, but there was no moisture there and he grimaced, "Please! Don't cripple me, Lady! It's not my fault!"

Kastiel lifted one of her shoulders, frowning as she considered, "He got what he wanted. Just time enough to get away, time which your little game in the arena gave him."

The Lady was almost spitting with agitation, "He manipulated me! He maneuvered me into getting him away from you, so that he could slip away! He even made it look like I did it on purpose! I'll kill him for this humiliation!"

Kastiel frowned harder, "He's mine."

The guard ducked his head, trying to appear smaller and avoid their attention even as he spoke. He was swearing roughly, "He stole a swoop bike and a hyperdrive regulator. He could be anywhere."

Mako leaned forward, whispering to Kastiel, "The regulator. He has that old ship, only needed the regulator to get off world. He's making a run for it." The Lady was actually stomping her slippered foot against the floor at this point. She gestured angrily towards one of her men, insisting he bring her a datapad, "Don't talk like you know anything, you fool! I had those bikes fitted with homing beacons for incidents like this, where some idiot guard might try to steal from me. That's what this is, too! You've stolen from me!"

"No! No, Lady, I didn't steal anything!"

"You let him get away, after I promised him as a prize! You've as much stolen from me as he has!"

"No! Please!"

Kastiel drew in one long, slow breath and crossed both her arms over her chest, "Excuse me. Can the two of you work this out some other time? I have a Devaronian to catch and not a lot of time to do it."

"Oh, yes, hunter. You'll punish Tyresius Lokei for me, won't you? Promise me!"

Kastiel stared into the dark pools of the Lady's eyes. She pursed her lips, refusing to break into a new smile, "Oh, he'll be sorry before I'm through with him."

The Lady panted, "I think I could fall in love with you, hunter."

"Now there's a doomed relationship if ever I've heard of one. They'd write sonnets of the tragedy that comes of your unrequited love, Lady, really. Too bad."

The Lady pouted dramatically, "And now you're only breaking my heart."

"Tough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Morrts were parasitic insects that fed off gamorrean blood. They were actually status symbols among gamorreans, with rank in the gamorrean clans often demonstrated by how many morrts were crawling on a gamorrean at any given time. A gamorrean warlord usually had up to twenty of the bloodsuckers on him, while a mere tusker, an unmarried male, was often poor and only had about six of the insects on him. (And yes, that's purely gross. Their squeals during Karraga's Palace runs were bad enough, yikes.)
> 
> (2) Tatooine was once a lush world of water and jungles. It was invaded by the Rakatan Infinite Empire, who took its native inhabitants, the Kumumgah, as slaves. Eventually, the Kumumgah rebelled, and to punish them, the Rakata "glassed" the surface of the planet, using an orbital bombardment to fuse the silica in the planet's crust into glass. The glass eventually degraded into sand that covered the expanse of the planet. The surviving Kumumgah on the world eventually evolved to become two seperate races - the Ghorfas, or Sand People, and the Jawas.
> 
> (3) Bantha Blue Milk could be seen being poured by a young Luke Skywalker in early scenes of Episode 4 "A New Hope", during a meal he shared with his uncle and aunt. The milk had a particularly sweet taste and was popular in making yogurt, cheese, and ice cream. It was produced from Bantha cows, of course.


	36. Catch a Devil by his Horns

There were times that Tyresius practically ached to be back on Devaron; with its cool rivers interspersing the landscape to create a misty backdrop to the mountains that circled its valleys. He was certainly thinking of Devaron right now – as he stumbled against yet more mounds of hard, burning sand, so hot he could feel the skin of his hands practically blazing even through the gloves that he was wearing. He was certain this particular moment completely took the cake. And the everlasting, blasted pie, too.

Tyresius grumbled with purest temper as he jerked back to his feet, slapping the sand off of his gloves, "Maybe I should've married that banker's daughter when mother insisted on it. But nooooo … I had to go off and prove myself, show them all how damned independent I am. And look what it's won me. A busted up ship buried in a sand bowl under the hottest suns in the galaxy."

Oh, he enjoyed the adventures, all of them. He fooled some of the craftiest Hutts in the Cartel. Then he walked away with pretty much all their credits, and quite a bit of the wealth from the Exchange, too. All very lucrative, really. But it was riding on the wings of a smuggler's ship as she rained destruction over a Mandalorian blockade that still worked to tantalize Tyresius' fondest dreams.

Other memories, though. Well, those Tyresius tried to forget. The people he left behind, the ones that he loved and then betrayed, the real friends who now called him an enemy – well, all of that wasn't so sweet to think about. There was that holo message from Zale after he walked out on Hylo, the one where he promised, "You ever show your damn face anywhere I can see it, and I'm peeling the red skin off your ass, Tyresius, I swear it." Yea. Nothing like watching someone you really did keep on caring about threaten your pretty red skin. Especially when they seriously meant it, he thought.

Hylo never contacted him again, though. There was no message, not one single angry, bitter threat about his ass or horns or anything else. Just … nothing. Somehow that ended up being so much worse. Even if he did think at first it was better he never had to look in her eyes after that. But eventually he figured out the truth, that he hurt her so much she plain refused to let him see it.

That sucked way worse, really.

It just left him to agonize as the years slid by, with him running and skipping sometimes one step ahead of the hunters and everyone looking for a fabulous piece of the wealth it was said he possessed, always wondering; if she was okay, had they caught her already, were they looking for her? All that, and the worst, too, was wondering did she still hate him.

Well … she really _should_ hate him. Tyreisus snorted as he looked up at the huge expanse of cloudless sky with its two blistering suns skirting the horizon. Seriously. What else was there for him to expect?

No. He was all alone, nothing but a stupid engineering droid to keep him company. That, and a … Wait, what the fuck? Was that a monkey-lizard? Tyresius startled, his jaw dropping as he looked at the small dark-red beast hanging from the wing of his ship with a huge clump of wires dangling from its little prehensile paw as it cheerfully chomped on … some machine-piece … something important-looking. He called over towards the creature, demanding, "What the …? Hey, you! Monkey-lizard! Knock it off!"

The creature jerked its head around to face Tyresius. It spat out a piece of wire-mesh, giggling maniacally. Then it fucking _waved_ at him -- right before reaching back inside the ship's innards to yank at something else equally vital to getting his ass off this blasted planet. Tyresius shouted at the thing, "Get out of there, damn you! Em-Kay! Get it!"

The engineering droid he commissioned years earlier really did try rushing towards the edge of the starship's left wing, where the monkey-lizard was hanging half-in, half-out of the hatch leading to various engine parts. But Em-Kay wasn't fast enough. Tyresius watched with wide, horrified eyes as the small rodent-like creature took to really laughing as it climbed all the way _inside_ his ship's engine far out of the droid’s reach.

From where Tyresius was standing, all the way on the other side of the stupid ravine where he was hiding as he worked over the ship, he could hear the sounds of that monster yanking, twisting, and snarling its way through the precious innards of the only means he had of escaping Tatooine.

Tyresius began running along the outside of the ship, banging on the sides to try and frighten the monkey-lizard into jumping out. But all he earned for his efforts was still more chattering monkey-lizard calls and loud bursts of monkey-lizard laughter. Oh, and even more ripping sounds as the thing continued demolishing his ship's engine! The only satisfying part of the entire episode came when he heard a sizzle and then a muffled cry of pain coming from the little monster, as something electric in there popped and burned against its little body.

"Hah! Burn, you little scum sucker!" Tyresius cried out, gleefully. The monkey-lizard responded with a wild angry shriek. Then the bangs started. Tyresius realized the little beast was beating against the interior of the ship lining. For a moment, he was confused. Then he heard a sheering sound as the monkey-lizard apparently managed to tear a hole into the actual living quarters of the ship. It shouted out some sort of victorious cry, then.

Tyresius gasped aloud and started running for the ramp that lead up into the ship’s interior. He activated the door and heard more loud sounds. Crap, there was some sort of crashing sound, then glass breaking. It even sounded like there was fabric ripping!

He yelped a panicked cry before running inside. But something hit him smack in the face just as he emerged from the airlock into the ship's cargo hold, something wet and mushy. Tyresius gagged as it covered his mouth and effectively muffled the choking cry of angry distress he made. He felt scalding anger when the sound of yet more monkey-lizard laughter peeled through the air while dripping coolness ran down his face.

Tyresius pulled … whatever it was … off his face. He dropped it onto the floor, where it made a loud plopping sound that actually echoed soddenly. Then his eyes bugged, as he stared down at the wet pile of clothing.

How the hell had the little beast known that was his _favorite_ shirt? The purple one, with the fringed cuffs. The one Zale laughed his butt off to see him wearing during some crazy party back on Nar Shaddaa in much better days a long fucking time ago. That little bastard threw his favorite shirt at him … After dunking it in what smelled like water from the waster dispenser down in the refresher!

"I'm going to kill you," Tyresius growled as he reached blindly for a blaster pistol. He eyed the bouncing monkey-lizard balefully. Ty thought his hands were scorching hot in his gloves earlier; but now the entire expanse of his skin felt even more red and hot with the bitterest rage. Shit, if smoke could pour from his ears, he would look like bubbling volcano standing there. Even his _horns_ felt like they were shaking.

The monkey-lizard giggled then and started pattering across the floor towards him. Tyresius shouted and took to shooting at the little rodent as it approached. But the monkey-lizard skirted each one of the bolts, so the shots only made holes in his ship’s floor all along the way. Then the beast actually ran straight between Tyresius’ feet as it scurried out airlock door. Tyresius screamed towards its thin, waving rat-tail as it went, "Come back here, you damned mynock! Like hell, you're getting away!"

He turned and rushed after the creature, emerging from the ship into the heat of the Tatooine day once again. His blood was pumping so fast, that the heat actually stole his breath for a long moment. He coughed, blinking as he looked around, frantically looking for the monkey-lizard. But Tyresius stopped, staring over at the bounty hunter who was standing there. Calm, patient and waiting. Like she had all the time in the world.

Her boot was resting smoothly atop the metallic face of his engineering droid, as it sparked and smoked from the numerous holes now dotting its metal chest. She leaned back against one of the crates holding his own equipment and tools, including that regulator he stole from the Lady of Pain.

For a single crazed moment, Tyresius actually thought the bounty hunter might be a mirage. Just some strange illusion from the heat of the day around him. But then he saw that same blasted, fucking monster of a monkey-lizard clambering across the sand – giggling as it went, the little fucker! – before perching on its haunches next to the hunter’s booted foot.

The hunter chirped down towards her pet, tossing it a piece of rancid meat that the monkey-lizard so quickly gobbled into its nasty little mouth. The hunter returned her gaze to Tyresius and her pretty mouth twisted into a smirk. Tyresius growled at them both. She clucked her tongue at him, "All done in by a mere monkey-lizard. Watching you go at it so makes this hunt worth the chapped lips and sunburn."

The taunt sent that little companion of hers into actual gales of laughter, so that the female bent over just behind the hunter to laugh so hard she snorted. Tyresius felt his cheeks flushing even hotter, as anger heated his blood till he thought it would actually boil in his veins. His hand started raising up the blaster again.

The bounty hunter’s smile disappeared abruptly, and she raised one gloved finger into the air in front of her. She wagged her pointed finger back and forth, "Don't. You've been amusing me. Piss me off, and I'll make this far more unpleasant than it needs to be." She spoke firmly this time, her lips pressed closed into a straightly serious line. Tyresius saw her friend nudging closer towards the hunter’s back, her own blaster already yanked free and held loosely against her thigh.

"You sent a crazy little rat to wreck my ship!"

"Yep. Figured I'd make it perfectly clear you weren't running any further. So has the message sunk in yet?"

"I hate you."

She leaned her head to the side, considering him with a somewhat bemusedly, "Why? No personal animosity in me, not for you. I'm just the tool they sent to make you pay for the stupidity you've spread all through the galaxy. Time to pay up, is all."

Tyresius suddenly felt old. And tired. More tired than he ever felt in the whole of his life. This was so far from anything he wanted; so damned hot he was roasting out here like a piece of meat on a stovetop. So far from the misty valleys of his youth. Or any place more cool than this … oven. He only ever wanted to be left alone. Where no one ever even heard the name Tyresius Lokei. He would have taken Hylo there. They would settled down in a small house. With a lake! He would have learned to fish, maybe.

Instead, he was going to die, alone and miserable, at the mercy of a smart, audacious hunter. And her fucking monkey-lizard, too. He glared over at the thing, which was still happily munching on a piece of meat he could smell stinking all the way from where he stood.

"We could negotiate, hunter. Everything is negotiable. Come on!"

"You don't have anything I want."

"I have …"

"Tyresius. You're one more step towards victory in the Great Hunt. That's all. They want me to shoot you, all very black and white in specific. I _will_ win this Hunt. Do you understand?"

And that's when he finally broke. She told him years later it was a good thing he didn't start crying, because she hated when the targets cried, said, "They always think I'm going to feel sorry for them, or something. Instead, I just feel disgusted. By the time there's a hunter standing over you, you've already screwed up, screwed others - conned, cheated, lied, stolen, killed. I simply hate to see you crying and begging when you've already stupidly taken from so many others already, is all."

But Tyresius Lokei didn't cry. Not with tearful words of mercy. No more offers of credits and jewels he no longer held. He just looked at her, utterly broken. And he swore to her.

That he would work his ass off for her.  
Forever, even. So long as she didn't kill him.

* * *

 "You didn't have to actually _shoot_ me, you know!"

Kastiel snorted at her newest crew member, "I told the Mandalorians I'd shoot you. So I did. That pretty scar there will remind you I can shoot you again if need be."

He scowled, pointing at the crate in the center of the trolley he was hauling behind them, "You only needed to shoot _him_!" The dead body of his duplicate was inside the crate. He found it particularly morbid the hunter had made him manhandle it all the way back to Mos Illa.

"I shot _him_ , too."

"Did the word 'only' escape your notice?"

Mako laughed, prodding the Devaronian against his shoulder, "Not much escapes Kas’ notice, actually. You may want to keep that in mind."

"Hey, I fixed you, didn't I?" Kastiel pointed towards his hip, where his belt had been pieced back together using twine salvaged from his now-abandoned starship. At least the thing still held his pants up. That way no one could see the red mark of the wound where Kastiel had quickly shot him right across his left buttock.

There was something humiliating about knowing both of the blasted women he was trailing now had actually seen him with his ass pointed to the air. Hells, Kastiel made him howl with real pain as she went about repairing the damage. Probably to make sure it really did scar, he thought. "I thought you were going to kill me!"

"Nope. I killed Tyresius Lokei." Kastiel leaned forward, suddenly intent as she looked at him, "I gave you a scar so you'd always remember he should _stay_ dead, Gault Rennow."

Gault idly scratched his ass where the healing skin was pulling against the edges of the wound she made there. He grumbled sourly, "All right, all right. That's my cue to stay out of trouble, huh? I hear ya. Why’d the Mandalorians get so specific about you shooting me, anyway?" Gault shook his head, glancing around at the various characters making their way through the sand-strewn streets of Mos Illa. He yanked on the trolley again, trying to ignore the thing he was pulling along. Kastiel certainly didn’t seem over-bothered by the cargo they were hauling along, even if passerby rushed to get out of their way as they moved down the street.

Well … Kastiel Blade _was_ a bounty hunter. Gault didn’t imagine hunters looked out of place with dead bodies in tow behind them as they marched into the spaceport. It’s just, there was something about Kastiel that seemed to make her stand out. Like she was unique. Gault had never once heard of a bounty hunter audacious enough to use a monkey-lizard to bring down a target, at least. Kastiel seemed uniquely capable of sizing up an opponent so perfectly, that he was already half-beaten before setting foot onto the field.

She was also pretty deft at fixing bloody marks across a man’s ass, to boot.

Wasn't bad on the eyes, either. He watched her moving along in front of him appraisingly, eyeing the curves of her backside. Kastiel’s thighs were protected by tough-looking armor plates, while a chest-plate covered her torso, too. But only her groin was covered by a single piece of armor, so that her ass was outlined and highlighted by the snug pants she was wearing. She made no real attempt to hide any of her female curves, either; her breasts were actually snugly curled in that chest-armor she was wearing.

And it all looked very, very Mandalorian; if he was looking at her from a distance he would have said she _was_ a Mandalorian, in fact. Shit, if he was any judge, all the armor she was wearing was Mando-made, from real Mandalorian iron and shaped by a true craftsman from the Clans. But Gault was caught off-guard when she shook her head at him, “I’m no Mando. Just running along in their Hunt.” Gault didn’t believe it, even if Kas shrugged unconcernedly over the question. Gault would’ve wagered real money, that some Mandalorian really liked her, at the least.

But Gault sensed the truth of things in regards his pretty bounty hunter killer-turned-employer. Mostly because she didn't look _back_ at him as he studied her. He thought she might be married. But there seemed to be more to it, too. It really didn’t matter, though. Gault still figured that Kastiel would always be more a Zale Barrows to him than anything close to a Hylo Vysz.

Kas would make him a better friend, is all. Maybe. If she didn’t keep on shooting him, that is. She slanted one of her shoulders upwards in a seeming shrug as they went along now, ponderingly explaining, “I didn’t ask why they insisted you be shot. But they were precise about it.”

Mako grunted, “Could be, that you beat the last guy to death with your bare fists. They’re looking for some variety. Or just trying to see if you can shoot such a fast-moving target. Who knows?”

“My fists weren’t bare.”

Mako sniffed a caustic sound, “Yea. I remember.”

Gault frowned as he looked up from his consideration of Kastiel’s perfectly curved buttocks, glancing over at Mako with curiosity. He caught her crinkling her nose with amused disgust at him, and he shrugged, "What? Just looking. And why did she beat some poor bastard to death with her bare fists, by the by?"

Kas didn't even glance back over her shoulder at the two of them. Three of them, if you counted the genetically-engineered duplicate made very much dead that Gault was pulling behind him. She asked, "What are you looking at, Gault?"

Mako smirked towards Gault, "Looking’s about all you’ll be able to do where she’s concerned, actually. And no way can the Eidolon ever be called ‘some poor bastard’. That jerk deserved every metal-wrapped blow to his face.”

Gault’s voice turned syrupy sweet, "Hey, if I was really interested in catching her eye I could nab it. Most people end up liking me, trust me. I have a natural charm." Gault glanced over at Kastiel again, ignoring Mako’s chuckling grin as he considered the bounty hunter who took down the Eidolon. Which explained in a neat little nutshell why Gault himself ended up hiring low-class thugs who left him hanging back there in the spaceport, rather than the guards he really wanted. Figures the gods were that much pissed off at him, still.

"I'm just saying you're not her type."

"Oh? Is it a he's-an-ugly-red-alien-with-horns sort of thing?"

Mako started to retort but not before Kastiel looked back at them and said, "You've got to admit, Gault. Your nose is really, really pointed. So's your chin. _And_ you've got no hair. The horns hardly make up for it."

"You're breaking my heart, dear lady, believe me."

Kastiel laughed at him, then. He watched the way her humor enlivened her dark eyes, made them glimmer even. Almost like looking at gems that're pulled free from rich brown soil, he thought. Kas shook her head with amusement, "If you had a heart to break, it wasn’t me that busted it. Ply your charms on a female that cares enough to put up with your shit. But I'll sick Quinnie on you if you keep looking at my ass."

Gault shuddered, looking over at the monkey-lizard currently engaged in stealing what appeared to be a piece of jerked dewback meat from one of the vendors who's table was set up just outside the spaceport. He muttered, "I’d rather you shot _my_ ass again, actually. That little rat of yours is on my own shit-list, trust me.”

Mako chuckled darkly, "Quinnie really does seem to like tormenting those of the male persuasion, huh, Kas?"

Kastiel considered, lowering her chin as she watched her monkey-lizard running back towards her with a piece of meat clutched in its paws. A burly human with thick, bushy sideburns was chasing along behind the fuzzy rodent, actually shaking his fist as he tried to catch Quinnie. He did stop when he caught sight of Kastiel, noted her armored appearance, the blasters on her hips, and the dead body in tow behind her. He harrumphed over at the monkey-lizard, although he didn’t move any closer. Kastiel murmured thoughtfully, "Wonder why men are so easily upset, though."

Gault's lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. But Mako was leaning forward to hold her stomach, as she pretty much guffawed loudly. Gault just lifted his chin in the harassed vendor’s direction, eyeing Kastiel from the corner of his eye, “You seriously call what that animal does to men _easy_? Although gotta admit it is a lot funnier when it’s someone else the little monster is messing with." Kastiel bit her own lip to hide her amusement as she stepped close enough to offer the agitated human some small bit of payment for the meat.

Gault grabbed Mako’s elbow to prod her along, listening to her adorable little snort as she finished laughing. Kastiel ambled behind them now, reprimanding the monkey-lizard. As if that would actually make some sort of difference, Gault thought snidely. Then Mako turned around to say something to Kas, so her back was facing the spaceport doors. And really, she was probably just short enough the Sith never even saw her before plowed straight into her backside. Mako choked on a panicked yelp as she stumbled nearly headfirst into the hard, sand-covered floor of the sheer entranceway before catching herself. Mako spun back around to glare up into the red, stiffly serious face of a Sith Pureblood, and she gruffly demanded, “Hey! Watch out! There are real people around here, you know!”

The dark red skin of the Pureblood's face pulled taut as he leaned forward, glaring right back at her, "You were in my way." His voice oozed with that damned sheer arrogance so many Sith seemed inclined to display, like their power was a show all its own. Gault was properly impressed; and he prodded Mako’s shoulder tellingly. Trying to encourage her to shut the hells up. Before the Sith turned her into burnt toast, maybe.

Gault gulped out a chuckling laugh, "Well, no harm done. Was good to bump into you. Huh, Mako? Right?"

Mako crossed her arms across her small chest. She only kept glaring up at the Sith, like a little cyborg with a death wish. She sneered up at him, "If you’d been watching where you stepped, you might have avoided this little interruption. Don’t blame me for just fucking standing here!"

The Sith Lord was actually surprised. He reared back only a bit, his deepset red eyes narrowing as he regarded the tiny female. He murmured, "You're a rather bold creature, I see. I really could squash you like I would a bug under my boot, you know."

Mako clenched her teeth and gritted out, "There are plenty of bugs that can sting you hard enough you’d regret getting that damned close, in fact. Just try it."

The Sith actually smiled suddenly, and his lips quirked into the strangest shape over his chin. Gault wasn’t entirely sure the smile was scarier than his glaring, actually. But the Sith seemed more amused than anything at least, bantering, "I like your boldness, in fact. Very well, I do apologize, little bug. For not considering your small form in my path before I stepped on you."

Mako hummed with humor as she broke into a grin then, “I won’t turn down the apology, either. Bugs have to respect the foot about to squash them, at least. But hey! Welcome to the sandpit of the galaxy - Tatooine. I’m probably the nicest thing you’ll see the entire time you’re here."

"Thank you. Is this place your home, then?"

"Hell, no! Can't get off this planet fast enough,” Mako thumbed over her shoulder, towards Kastiel. “Following her into the spaceport fast as we can. Except when we’re getting stomped on along the way, mind you."

The Sith looked over, judging the bounty hunter’s step as she moved closer to her people. Which definitely explained the corpse on the cart, he thought. He barely looked at the Devaronian, though. It was the hunter who fascinated him, drawing the eye merely in the turn of her head. For only a moment, he thought she was … familiar, somehow.

He ghosted his gaze across her features, considering her. Then he extended his Force senses, trying to see her through his own power. But the hunter’s lips compressed tightly, as if she could very almost feel him moving across her connection to the Force. He sensed her confusion turning to upset, knew she didn’t like his seeming touch. The core of her was beyond his reach, though, and that hidden depth to her surprised him. Her will was exceptional, her connection to the Force greater than she knew. Even if she couldn’t touch it.

She was a real warrior, though. Strong enough to be dangerous, even to a Sith. She impressed him, enough he inclined his head towards her, "Bounty hunter. And a successful one. It's an honor to meet a worthy warrior here on this remote world." His seeming respect and politeness caught them each by surprise. He even introduced himself, "I am Lord Praven."

She grunted back at him, "Kastiel Blade. You're stepping on my people in some blasted hurry to get out onto this dustbowl of a world." She subtly gestured and Mako practically slid behind her. Gault wondered bemusedly if they practiced the motion in their spare time. But he didn’t say anything, either. Just leaned his own hip against the cart so his hands were free to grab the rifle in the harness on his back.

Praven missed none of it. He only watched their smooth motions with an assessing gaze, before grunting with approval. "Revenge is reason enough for me to hurry coming here. But your own business on this world is concluded," Praven waved a beefy red hand towards the crate containing the not-so-lamented Tyresius Lokei. Kastiel shrugged.

Kastiel shrugged a single shoulder, "Sounds like you think that’d be a good thing."

"It would."

"Then it would be best if you stopped knocking my people on their asses so we can move them right off-planet, heh."

Lord Praven lowered his head, just enough to obscure the strange smile that twitched against his lips. Gault still thought the shape of the guy’s mouth was weirdly discomfiting, actually. But Praven only drawled, "Apologies, of course. The best of luck to you in all your future endeavors."

Kastiel watched the Sith Pureblood as he almost flowed around her little party. He stepped out into the heated light of the Tatooine day, and Kastiel wondered sideways if the air would be as unpleasant to him. Then she realized Quinnie was about as quiet as she ever saw him, practically hiding behind her boot as he regarded the Sith walking away from them. She chuckled down at him, “So you do have some small sense of self-preservation, at least.” Then Kastiel glanced over at Mako, her dark eyebrows arching up against her forehead, "You have a real habit of knocking yourself into Sith, Mako. I may have to start listing that as one of your innate talents. Sith beacon!"

“That apprentice girl back on Dromund Kaas doesn’t count! I was following you!”

“I do think you were the one who got us down into the bunker where she was hiding, though. Then she sent you spinning like a child’s top; totally focused on you first-off, not me.”

“Ergh, the headache!”

Gault followed them as they continued moving into the spaceport. He yanked and pulled the cart along behind him, listening to the shift of the crumpled form of his own body-double against the sides. He grumbled under his breath, "I knew I was fucking cursed. I’m gonna end up minus another horn, I just know it! I’m doomed! Following after crazies on a doomed, cursed course. Kas was right -- I _am_ stupid."


	37. Insane with You

**Holotransmission from _Freedom's Way_ – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Primeday at 1826 hours – recipient Mako**

… So there we were, in this cave, facing down a crime boss, who's apparently utterly fascinated with Risha. I told you about Risha, right? She's got her eye on the captain but Gaib treats her pretty much like he treats every female. I mean, it's not like he's even dishonest with them. But I don't get the feeling he really cares much once he's back on the ship. Not sure how he's going to end up with Risha, though, since she's on the ship, too, and he can't just leave her behind when he's ready to move on.

… But anyway. So Gaib, he looks right at that crime boss and just outright plays him! He has him caught right between – get this! – a Jedi and a Sith! So they're battling it out right there, with this gangster fellow hopping mad between them. It was a sight!

… We've decided Tatooine is pretty much our favorite planet so far. We may come back here when we both need a break. Hope it's soon.

… So … uh … you going to be freed up for some down time soon?

**Holotransmission from _Bad Boy_ – sender Mako – current location [redacted] – received Taungsday at 1409 hours – recipient Corso Riggs**

… Oh, gods, yea! I so need a vacation! Kas mentioned that earlier, too, how funny! Although I'm pretty sure that if I asked her to go back to Tatooine for a vacation, she'd haul off and shoot me. She hated it from the first moment we stepped out of the spaceport! Although if Gaib were there she’d likely make it a point to find him. Never met a woman who watches out for her brothers so much, at least.

… But I swear this Hunt is wearing us down. We feel like we've been at this forever!

… Gault, damn it! I'm using the holo right now! Find someone else to bother, and, no, I don't care how bored you are!

**Holotransmission from _Freedom's Way_ – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Taungsday at 1743 hours – recipient Mako**

… Who's Gault?

**Holotransmission from _Bad Boy_ – sender Mako – current location [redacted] – received Zhellday at 0952 hours – recipient Corso Riggs**

… Trust me. You don't ever want to know Gault. He's nothing but a pain in the butt Devaronian we happened to pick up and haul aboard back on Tatooine. For some strange reason, Kas thought he could prove useful. He does seem pretty handy with a rifle, and there are plenty of people around us that need shooting. So she might be right. Who knows?

… Meantime, I'm still trying to figure out where the pieces to my implants were manufactured. Kas is kind of leery of me poking into too many systems, though, and she has a point about being careful. It seems like every time I find some hint or clue about where I might have come from, there's a wall thrown into place, as if the information is being handed out piecemeal. Kinda like a bread trail, maybe.

… What if I'm being herded into place? And why?

… Do you miss me?

**Holotransmission from _Freedom's Way_ – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Benduday at 0823 hours – recipient Mako**

… So this fellow named Carteri was in the cantina on Nar Shaddaa. You remember the one, right? He comes up to me with a picture of this girl, looked almost exactly like you! Kept calling her Coral and insisted that was you. It was complete nerf shit, of course. Shoulda seen him running when Gaib said he'd shoot him in the face if he didn't haul jets. Called him a spook and said it was an all round smelly bit of mess.

… And yea. Sometimes I tell myself this is completely insane. You spend way too much time around Imperials, at least. But still.

… Just be careful.

**Holotransmission from _Bad Boy_ – sender Mako – current location [redacted] – received Benduday at 1124 hours – recipient Corso Riggs**

… Coral. She looks just like me! She has to be my sister! There's no other explanation, gods! I could have this whole family out there. What if they're looking for me? What if I ended up on the streets because they lost me and they've been looking all this time? I'm just so stunned. And hey, it’s exciting, really.

… It's so hard not to rush at finding out everything I can. But Kas is like you, keeps telling me how I have to be careful. Kinda hard to prod too much or too fast when you have this tough bounty hunter looming over your back every time you start at it.

… I keep reminding myself I've come too far to lose now.

… Did I mention I like being insane with you?

**Holotransmission from _Freedom's Way_ – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Taungsday at 0952 hours – recipient Mako**

… Do you remember that café where you first saw me? Be there this afternoon, okay?

… Leave the monkey-lizard with Gault.

**Holotransmission from _Bad Boy_ \- sender Gault Rennow - current location [redacted] - received Bendusday at 1205 hours - recipient Corso Riggs**

... We've yet to have the privilege of meeting. Have no worries, though! It will happen soon enough! I'm told that you once had a monkey-lizard tear your scalp to shreds. I'm just sending you this message to let you know it wasn't bad enough and you deserve so much worse pain and agony than that! Tell me how you'd feel if that monkey-lizard had been let loose on you, while you were trying to sleep, huh?

... I have to live here, dammit! I mean it! If I try to leave, Kas will shoot me across the ass. Again!

... I just wanted you to know why I was punching you in the face the first time we're introduced. Hope the past couple of days you've spent in a sexual haze, I'm sure, were really worth it.

... Tell Mako I put the monkey-lizard in _her_ quarters this morning. Along with some of his favorite food.


	38. It's Time

He fought his way out of obscurity, aching to make a place for himself, somewhere he belonged. Because he was only abandoned onto the streets of his home planet, just left to starve – yea, he fought hard.

There was a savagery that belonged to the streets of every city, anyway. Any of them. They all made for a flesh and bone fight just to survive and none if it ever had respect for anyone - didn't care how young you were, how big or small you were, not whether you were male or female. No, it picked you up and spit you back out and all you could hope for was that you retained some semblance of humanity in the process.

But Hedarr Soongh won his place back from the streets. He won! He emerged out from the Great Hunt with the title Grand Champion, and then he held to it firmly enough. And never mind how young he was when he did it, either. He showed them how his own honor made him Mandalorian, the youngest ever to do so much. He was fifteen years-old, and even then he never backed down.

Honor shaped him, made him. He held fiercely to it, let it define him his whole life. He didn't set it aside for anything or anyone, not for any man or woman and no matter the prize or reward that he was offered to do so.

He always burned, rather, to show the worlds everywhere that he was better than the gutter trash his mother called him when she walked away from him there in that long ago dark alleyway. Not that she lasted much past that moment; she was dead less than a year later. The streets took her. But he won – he won a name worth showing them all. Now, even the Mandalore called Hedarr a friend.

He certainly wouldn’t compromise his honor this day. Hedarr breathed out a tired sigh as he regarded the two warriors in front of him, waiting as they both continued telling him. He glanced off across the passageway, looked over at the press of fighters, hunters, and warriors bustling through the hallways of the Enclave. He listened, is all.

"You should've seen her, Hedarr. Sweat rolling off her face, blood splattered across her armor. She pulled on the _beskar_ we gave her without hesitating, without wiping the blood from her own skin, even. Then she just marched off to find her real target. Didn't even slow down. It was beautiful, I'm telling you," Dorrik's voice was heavy, solid. He obviously admired the hunter. It trebled through his voice, even.

"I would fight aside her any day. Any one of the Mando’ad would, if they were smart," Gezda rumbled his agreement. The sound of his voice actually caught Hedarr by surprise, so that he swung his attention back to the men suddenly. Some claimed Gezda was a mute, since he so rarely spoke his thoughts. Yet he spoke of Kastiel Blade today. Little else might have impressed Hedarr more; not even the nature of the words themselves.

Although all of the whispers and rumors about the hunter were just that much, too. Hell, she wasn’t even formally accepted into the Hunt before they were talking about, looking at her. Hedarr was there when Gratta returned from Hutta with the holorecordings of her team’s destruction, and the Huntmaster growled out choice words of disgust. He called it was shameful, even if he agreed with Gratta that no real rule of the Hunt was violated.

Hedarr only hung his head as the recordings played, shamed by the display and watching as someone he fought aside, taught and trained, guided even – watching that warrior act with no real honor until his own blood boiled.

Tarro should know better! Tarro followed Hedarr away from battle on Alderaan, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. He said he abided the Resol’nare, that the life of a Mandalorian warrior was all he wanted – even disdained his own inheritance, and all its wealth and privilege to earn a place in the Mando’ad.

But really, it was only glory that Tarro wanted. Not honor. He wanted backslaps and admiration from his comrades, rather than to truly stand alongside them as equals. He wanted the comforts that came from accolades and awards, the wealth to be had in the title of champion and hero. He didn’t see the victory in driving yourself even harder, that every challenge and battle was itself the prize. Not the reward of coin or hero-worship; but the simple honing of a warrior’s mettle, instead.

It shamed Hedarr he didn’t see Tarro for what he was, until he stood there watching those recordings. The Huntmaster could insist otherwise, and the Mandalore might agree with him. But Hedarr knew the truth, that he failed when he accepted Tarro was a Mandalorian.

"There comes a point, Hedarr, where we accept that those we lead and teach will act as they choose and no matter which way we point them. It’s not for us to make them,” the Huntmaster growled, his Wookiee voice roughly hard in its directness.

"And makes for a real test of this fresh, young hunter’s worth, too,” Artus seemed more impressed as he considered Gratta’s descriptions of the female the Hutts sent to the melee, rather. As if Tarro was dismissed from any of his own regard from then on. “I’m going to keep my eye on her. I like that she’s stayed focused on the battle, rather than any one of the obstacles in her way." Mandalore’s voice was rich with fascinated admiration as he stood there. And Hedarr finally regarded the hunter so keenly, too. Then he nodded, “Let’s both watch her, then.”

And he did. He watched her with vivid interest. She was no rapacious killer, gained no real satisfaction from the lives she took, or the pain she caused. But she didn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to defeat her opponents, either. She was calculating, intelligent and observant; she would size up an enemy and then take him down precisely and terribly fast. And Hedarr noted how anyone of her own was harmed that she took as a personal failure.

Kastiel Blade honored her people and her team, as if innately aware of the true value in the Resol’nare. As if someone taught her, showed her how important it was to protect your clan and your own. When the Clans began murmuring and cheering that the Manda already knew her, was when Hedarr’s chin lifted up in satisfaction.

The hunter’s brutally clear tenacity was focused on destroying Tarro Blood. Even if she didn’t announce it, or cry of it. Because there was no need for such things. She would do it, or she would die in the doing and that was all. Hedarr knew she would overwhelm Tarro before the ending; knew it was keenly as if it was recorded and written down already. Tarro never had what Kastiel possessed so naturally – that fervent, unceasing resolve.

But it didn’t change the shame Hedarr felt whenever he considered the Hunt. And now he was done watching.

* * *

 

"She's not one of us! She's not Mandalorian! It'll take more than a few fancy moves against dummy Imperials and crazed assassins before _I'm_ impressed," Jogo's voice carried over the gathered warriors. They all pressed close together there in the sparring ring, neatly circled around as sweat slowly dried and throats gulped down fluids.

Torian shook his head, disagreeing, "No. She fights hard, Jogo. There’s honor in her, too. Nothing shameful from not being born among the Clans. We just show her, is all."

Jogo glared over at him where Torian was crouching, growled through gritted teeth, "An _aru'tal_ like you can’t say what it takes to be _Mando’ad_."

"You’re wrong. I’ve had to prove myself too many times, not to know what it takes to be _Mando’ad_. I’ve fought harder than you, Jogo, and it’s made me stronger,” Torian shook his blonde head hard enough the sweat droplets flew down to the sand-strewn surface of the floor. There were no few murmurs of agreement, grunted sounds of approval from among the gathered warriors. Jogo scowled, especially when Dev thumped Torian on the back.

"There aren't many warriors more honorable, either. I'd fight with you through anything, Torian." Dev raised his chin towards Jogo, "If Torian thinks she's worthy, I'd tend to agree. Besides, everyone knows if she survives the Hunt, she'll probably be taken into one of the Clans. Word is, several Clans are already vying for her. Even Ordo has mentioned taking her."

"Tarro Blood says he'll defeat her!" Several calls and shouts echoed that sentiment, too. Torian frowned, listening. Tarro Blood visited the Enclave several times over the past months, moving among the warriors and whispering. He crowed and shouted that he would beat every one of his competitors, calling them unworthy and weak. But he especially sneered when he talked of the hunter from Hutta, "She's a mongrel, nothing but a baseborn whelp. She's worth nothing, not even a good fucking. She should've been drowned at birth! Someone must've thought so, too. Did you see her face? I'm surprised she's willing to show herself out of doors!"

Torian was disgusted by Tarro’s almost-ranting refrains, until he finally avoided Tarro whenever he saw him approaching. Tarro Blood reminded Torian of a bitter weed, one of those that spread rot in even the most thriving thatches of grain. He just oozed that he lacked honor, until there was nothing more of him but the paint he used on his face. He didn’t know what it was, to be Mandalorian.

Dev leaned close enough to Torian, to whisper just against his ear, "Heard it said, it was Tarro Blood that warned Kastiel Blade's target on Tatooine. He tried getting the Devaronian to escape her and made her hunt all the harder."

Rumors weren’t enough reason to step out against Tarro Blood, though. Torian knew there were still warriors enough who wouldn’t believe Tarro Blood would be so dishonorable. Torian grunted as he bent his head forward, approving, "She still beat him. Won’t be long before Jogo has to call her Mandalorian outright."

Dev nodded firmly, "I think she's going to kill Tarro Blood. Because he killed her people back on Hutta. Tarro made it personal for her, not just a prize to be won. And she won’t stop."

Torian huffed out a breath, thinking how much more appealing the female was after baring her determination and ability so clearly. A warrior should always fight to defend his friends and brothers; something the Hutta hunter seemed to understand without any Mandalorian showing her the proper way. Torian muttered, "If she kills him, he’ll get a better death than he really deserves. He dies with honor that way. He should be grateful for that much."

"I don't believe he'd ever see it the way you do, Torian," Dev grinned, then.

"I don't believe that much of him, either," Torian smiled back. But he looked up when Jogo began yelling again. It was only more noise, though. Torian paid more attention to the comments from the other circled warriors, as they bantered stories about the dark-haired hunter he was increasingly interested to know. So Torian crouched low, with Dev just beside him as they both listened.

On Balmorra, she killed the Imperial who used her to undermine his own people for personal gain: "Shot him straight in the chest, I heard. They said he actually cried real tears as he died! Didn’t even try to be brave."

On Nar Shaddaa, she beat the assassin to death. That one, she marked him with the metal _he_ pulled out from a young man's face beforehand: "Isn't keen on Nar Shaddaa. I heard she doesn't like Hutts too much. No, not even after being sponsored by one. Did you hear what Nem'ro did to her on Hutta?"

On Tatooine, she fought a wild, maddened native, one of the Sand People’s chiefs: "He tried running into one of their caves. But she followed him. Came back out clutching his damn head. Dorrik met her in the outpost nearby, said she didn't even wash the chief’s blood off before fighting a Gamorrean in an Exchange arena!"

The stories flew, hot and wild. Each Mandalorian tried to outdo the others in their tales about the compelling bounty hunter. Torian remembered the way she fought in the melee – how she moved, responded; how she turned and jumped; the way her dark hair tumbled against her jaw and her armor twisted against her frame. He remembered how she looked when she held up her fist in a gesture of wild, pleased victory at the end. Torian dropped his chin, lowering his gaze to the ground as the warriors debated, arguing which clan she'd belong to, which warrior she'd take as her own.

"Ordo wants her! There's no way she'll turn them down!"

"I think it will come down to which _aliit_ the hunter herself chooses. Smart warriors will be angling to catch her eye, rather than trying to tell her which clan is better, or not. Don’t be stupid enough to say you know better than she does."

"A lot of Clans are looking at her."

"You're all fools. What it will come down to is which one she calls riduur. It will be _his_ clan name she takes up as her own. Mark my words."

Several of the more experienced warriors nodded and grumbled their agreement. But Torian looked away as the younger men began arguing which of them could win the hunter. He had admitted to himself he was interested, had watched and listened to the course she was making in the Great Hunt. The more she won, the more he wanted her. But then … the more she won, the farther out of his reach she really was. Torian looked around him at the circle of warriors crouched there, some of them pointing their fingers back and forth to emphasize their points of argument.

What worth could _he_ offer her when his name only invited ridicule and scorn?

Torian clenched his jaw tightly shut before backing away from the group. Dev looked at him as Torian stood back, and he nodded briefly when Torian motioned towards the nearby barracks space. Torian went alone towards the refresher stalls, intent on washing the sweat and dust from his frame. He shook his head as he moved, his determination settling.

Corridan was right, he decided: "It's time, Torian. Trust me. Move to prove yourself, clear your name. Show them all! Show them that Jicoln is dead and _you_ are Cadera now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few words this time around:
> 
> beskar - mandalorian iron. also, armor  
> aru'tal - traitor's blood  
> aliit - clan name or identity. also, family  
> resol'nare - the Mandalorian Code, or "Six Actions". The basic tenet of Mandalorian honor.  
> Manda - a religious concept in the Mandalorian religion; basically the spirit that all Mandalorians belong to.


	39. New Places and Familiar Eyes

Kastiel quirked an eyebrow over at Gault. She had noticed his absent-minded habit of rubbing along the jagged edges of his broken horn whenever he was worrying some issue through that Devaronian mind of his, and his fingers were working over the fleshy ridges just under his horn right now. He only stood there, staring woodenly across the vendor’s table at some brightly-colored bolts of fabric – a riotous tangle of textiles in hues of pale pink and lavender, all tossed in vibrant piles over the surface.

Gault seemed enthralled as he stared at a brilliant piece of royal-purple fabric, that twinkled with silvery threads embossed in its velvet-like lines. Actually, if it weren’t for the silver threads, the fabric looked amazingly similar to the shirt Quinnie ruined back on Tatooine, Kastiel supposed. She nudged Gault’s shoulder roughly, so he nearly stumbled against the edge of the table and she harrumphed, “Please tell me you’re not looking to really hang curtains on the ship, Gault.”

He blinked at her with nearly owlish confusion on his face for a long moment. Then he smiled slowly, shrugging, "Hey, I already told you that _Bad Boy_ of yours needs some spiffing up. You'd never know a couple of women bunked there for nearly a year now, sheesh." He pointed down at the table, "Come on! Don't you think that pink fabric would highlight the colors in your quarters?"

Kas chuckled, "Well thanks for assuring me you've never set foot in my quarters, at least." She leaned over the table, considering. Then she pushed aside the more thin and glittery-looking fabrics, pulling against a length of material she was certain occupied Gault’s attention. Gault sighed so subtly as she unearthed the cloth from the pile and he seemed to deliberately looked away, seemingly uninterested as she flattened her palm against the material.

When Mako called out to them from across the market floor, Gault huffed at Kas sideways, “What in the hells is a ‘smoothie’ and why does Mako think I’ll like it? Do I look like I have a sweet tooth, or something?” Kastiel’s mouth twisted up at the corner as she glanced downwards at his mouth, until Gault sniffed undelicately, “Mako’s too little, you know. Let me go check on her, before she falls across the cantina bar-top."

Kastiel watched him amble away. She curled her finger softly along the implant under her eye, thinking. Then she bent her finger in a come-hither motion towards the vendor, ignoring the wide smile that crinkled his human face into near oily friendliness. She pointed, "This material, here. I need a shirt made from it, something to fit my Devaronian friend. The cuffs should flare out, with fringes hanging from them. Just so, see? Can you do it?"

The idiot vendor bargained steeply, naming a price far beyond what the cloth was really worth. Perhaps he thought some bumpkin hunter from off-world wouldn’t know the difference. He certainly didn’t realize Kastiel was born on Dromund Kaas, and regularly bartered in those meanest markets in the galaxy.

Kastiel slowly, slowly glared at him. She raised up her arms, to cross them over her chest before tapping her elbow with her gloved fingers in blatant impatience. But she stayed quiet, waiting. The man gulped loudly as he considered the tense expression on her face, “Or maybe not. I imagine I could complete the order for a much more _reasonable_ sum. Of course I can.”

Kastiel lifted her chin pertly, “Reasonable is a damned good notion, yea.” She sullenly handed him the credits, ignoring the man’s blatant relief when she turned and prepared to leave. Hells, he didn’t even argue over the absolute insane timetable she outlined for him to complete the work. He just patted his fleshy stomach as she walked away, like he was checking to see that he emerged from the exchange in one single, uninjured piece, and he shuddered.

Kastiel entered the tiny cantina, hesitating in the doorway as she looked for Mako and Gault. The pair of them were perchec on a bench set against the back wall of the place, and Gault lifted his thumb into the air in her direction. But then Kastiel was shoved roughly from behind, as some complaining nobleman tried brushing past her into the establishment. He even barked at her reproachfully, glaring.

"Watch out, you! I'm here for my morning repast, and _you're_ blocking the door!" The young man very truly lifted his nose into the air, in the purest example of snobbery Kastiel had ever seen. It was so perfectly stereotypical, that Kas almost asked him if he practiced the motion in front of a mirror. It was like catching a show right before breakfast, especially when he dramatically rubbed his chest where he ran into her armored back. As if the impact had caused _him_ damage, in fact.

She canted her head as she regarded him, "Bit early in the day for you to be acting so much an ass, don't you think?"

"How dare you! _I_ am Chrimar Noven, a nobleman of Alderaan. No miserable upstart from the Empire should dare address me, let alone with such disrespect."

"Well, then … Take that up with an Imperial, ‘stead of me. They pay well, at least. Can’t ask for better than that, at least where the Empire’s concerned. You on their shit list, I mean?" Kas dramatically scanned his entire frame, looking him up and down as if judging his value against an Imperial bounty poster. Chrimar blanched when she looked back at him, arching one of her dark eyebrows tellingly.

"What? Pay you? For what? I’ve done nothing, you Imperial lapdog! Just a yipping pet of the Empire’s …” He kept right on blathering, his voice rising as they both faced each other there in the doorway. He pointed imperiously towards her armor and weapons, sneering, “You’re nothing! And broken besides! Great gods, but what happened to your face! Disgusting! How dare you threaten me?"

Kas tightened her lips, her dark eyes cold and hard as she stared back at him with stony offense, “I’m not threatening you yet. Still trying to figure out if you’re worth it, rather. But seriously … Who'd stop me if I did?"

"What?" He turned a real mottled shade of red, and darted suddenly frightened eyes around the cantina. Like he was looking for allies. Or merely an avenue of escape. He wheezed in a high voice then, "I will not be threatened, damn you! Your antagonism is ill-advised; this is Alderaan, not some grossly controlled Imperial planet. Leave me to enjoy my tea now, you beastly mongrel!"

Kastiel waved her arms in a wide, mocking arch, gesturing the fool along his way. She watched him scamper off like the little rodent he was, picturing him with a scrawny tail tucked between his legs just to keep from kicking him in the backside as he went. Didn’t matter, though. Chrimar Fucking-Noven had already ruined her own breakfast, and she passed over the brightly-colored glass of slush that Mako pushed in front of her. Mako glanced angrily at the prissy nobleman, but Kas didn’t notice as she looked down at her glass and tried to figure out what the stuff was made from.

“Fruit, Mako? It’s a sticky mess! And I think it’s turning your lips a fake shade of orange,” Kastiel waved her hand in a brief gesture towards Mako’s chin. “You know what this much sugar does to your teeth?”

Mako scoffed, “At least it won’t fry my insides through pure gastrointestinal tests of fortitude.” Gault only kept right on slurping loudly on the straw he had tucked between his sharp teeth, and Kastiel shook her head as the orange-colored gloppy stuff moved through the tube. Kas gave him a fake little chuckle as he smirked at her. It all proved such a futile effort in the end, damn it.

Because the blasted server eventually leaned over the table, muttering, "Perhaps it would be best if you vacated the table, mistress. If you're not hungry, that is." The man’s unctuous tones grated the flailing edges of Kastiel’s dying patience with the entire population of Alderaan right then. So she turned her head up to glare at the man, her jaw clenched tight as she argued with herself against bashing in his face with a hard gloved fist.

He was only some minor attendant. Just a servant, and unable to put up any kind of fight worth calling that word. Maybe he was directed by someone else, too … even if Kastiel could not catch sight of a manager’s pointed finger, as she glanced over the little bastard’s sharp shoulder. And what sort of eatery had a thin stick of a man serving its guests, mind you?

Kastiel glared up into the server’s skinny face from where she reclined back against the bench seat. But she didn’t attack him; she only nodded, "Damned right. This place isn't for me." She rose to her feet abruptly, so that one of her blasters clattered against the edge of the table. But she didn’t even glance backwards before she turned to leave. Mako gaped towards Kastiel’s back, practically jumping off the bench to chase after the bounty hunter.

Gault stared after them, sighing. He sat there another few moments, staring mournfully at his half-finished glass of orange sweetness. He huffed, "Ah, well. Back to work, I suppose." But he did look back at the table to watch the server clear off his unfinished drink, so he quite literally bowled over a man coming through the door just then. _Figures_ , he thought when he caught sight of the clean lines of the human’s Imperial uniform. The man surveyed him coolly, his blue eyes barely blinking as he assessed Gault. "Crap, I really do have the luck of a Bantha these days," Gault blurted aloud.

"Banthas are common to the world of Tatooine. My condolences, if that’s where you hail from,” the man’s accent was as obviously Imperial as his attire. Gault rather wondered why he bothered wearing the insignias on the front of his coat rather than just introducing himself, it was so blatant. Then a real-live Sith stepped through the door just behind the fellow, and Gault decided the pair of them were practically living, walking advertisements of the whole Empire – like signs that read, “This is what it looks like to belong to the Sith.”

That, even if the Sith was one of the smallest, cutest little females Gault ever considered. Although Mako just might give the woman a run for her credits if cuteness was the gauge. But this one was really pretty, with her thick black hair caught up and tied back in a bundle against the nape of her neck. The Imperial complimented her, the both of them pale-skinned with such dark-haired heads. But the woman’s eyes were brown, rather, more like melting candy. Then the man stepped over to stand closer to her, so purely protective that Gault bit his tongue to keep from laughing at the stereotypical gestures they kept making.

Gault rubbed the tip of his tongue in a rasping motion along the sharp edge of one of his teeth, refusing to cluck at them, "Well. Even if I could forget how hot Tatooine can be, I was literally chased off the world by a damned monkey-lizard. An experience I’m really trying to forget.” The Sith woman blinked at him bemusedly for a long moment, and Gault smiled at her, “Hey. Alderaan has better food. Try the smoothies if you get a chance." He glanced back at the table again, saw that his glass was gone. Damn it, he thought. Down the blasted drain.

"I'm hardly interested in trying anything called a smoothie, actually. It sounds unpleasantly messy, in fact,” the Sith murmured as she looked around at the curved walls of the place, shrugging a small, curved shoulder in Gault’s direction. The Imperial sighed at her, admonishing, “A real meal would be beneficial, my lord.” She glanced up at Gault then, her dark eyes glinting with amusement instead of any sort of prideful temper.

_Those eyes_ … Gault felt his mouth drop open as he studied every curving line of the Sith’s face, and how familiar she was. Put a couple metal pieces under those pretty eyes, some scars along her jawline, and they would be mirror copies, even.

Gault snapped his mouth closed, but not soon enough. The Sith tilted her head sideways, eyeing him carefully as she registered his shock and surprise. But Gault just looked past both the humans, eyeing the door. He coughed, "My employer will be looking for me. She’s got a tendency of shooting at me when I drag my feet, mind you. Although I'd avoid those young noblemen, there, in the corner if I were you."

The Imperial narrowed his eyes as he looked over at Crimar Noven and his little toady companions leaning over a table and talking animatedly to each other, "They don't appear particularly dangerous."

Gault shrugged, scoffing, "Oh, don’t doubt you would take them down more than several pegs. But they're not friendly towards Imperials; or just about anyone who works for them, either. Pretty much ruins any appetite you come in here with, I would think."

The woman turned a hard gaze towards the noblemen at their pretty table, with all their pretty tea dishes, and she pursed her lips, "I see." There was no more amusement in her eyes, Gault thought. It was strangely disconcerting to consider such familiar eyes look so … dangerously Sith. She barely noted him any further, though. Just stepped around him and off the door’s step to approach the young men in the corner, her intention coldly precise.

Gault left.


	40. Thought MY Family was Bad

Raffid deliberately twisted his thin lips into some semblance of a smile. He ran one slim finger under the girl's chin, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze to croon, "Now, dear one. Trust me. You know that I'll take care of everything, of you. I'm only sending you to the estate to keep you safe and well. I'll meet you there within the week, I promise."

The girl sniffed back her frightened tears. He vaguely remembered her name, at least. Her blue eyes shimmered wetly as she gifted him with a watery smile, "I do trust you -- I do. I'll see you, then. In a week. All right, I'll travel there immediately."

"Very good. Now run along, my dear,” he prodded her along with a push against her still-slender buttock. Considering her news, her shape would change quickly very soon enough. Perhaps he should take advantage of it while she retained such pretty curves. But there wasn’t any time, and Raffid waved her along, “And remember. Don't speak to my father of this. He can't know anything until after we've wed. Once it's done, there will be no way he can stop our love." Raffid kept his smile in place as the small serving girl nodded over her shoulder towards him oh-so-naively before rushing from the alcove where he had dragged her in the wake of her little bombshell of an announcement.

"You're such a bore, brother."

Raffid spun around with the briefest snarl, scowling when his sister emerged from the shadows of a nearby doorway, "Come now, Aitalla. Are you going to run and tattle now? Please. Remind me we're still small children needling at each other in the courtyard, by all means."

"I'm simply tantalized by the thought of you – Lord Raffid Girard himself, no less! – a father! My my, but we have come so far since those days in the courtyard, hmmm?" The amusement lacing her tone offended him but Raffid resolutely pantomimed his lack of concern. Aitalla saw right through his playacting, of course. She always did. It’s why he despised her so utterly.

"And you call _me_ a bore, Aitalla," Raffid offered his sister a dramatic yawn, never stopping his progress down the hallway towards the gathering in the main rooms. Aitalla ambled along next to him, her gentle hips swaying prettily as they went. The halls they passed gleamed richly with plush fabrics and the prettiest curios. The civil war might have made House Girard much more vulnerable -- so they had to abandon their traditional estates in lieu of a safer place at the Thul Palace. But that didn't mean Alderaan's best families shunned them, either. Parties and celebrations continued no matter where they were.

"You're sending the girl to our estate, Raffid. You know very well you can't join her at any point in the near future. You're abandoning her to the cruelties of fate! It's really quite dramatic," Aitalla's voice conveyed only amused boredom, a mere moment's break in the tedium of her day. Just a bit of pestering, nothing that even worked to unsettle the ennui that marked most of her days since they had come to the Thul Palace.

Raffid sighed, "Well, really. What can you expect, though? She's nothing. A bit of fluff that I sampled when nothing else was available. You can't really think I'd actually marry the girl."

"You must admit, it would make for some fascinating turns at the dinner table, if you were to try. Can you imagine Uncle's reaction?" Aitalla loosed a bitter laugh at the thought, "Mind you, I think it dreadfully boring of you, to sample the serving girls here at the Palace. Come now, brother. It's hardly even a challenge. That girl probably ran into your bed, anyway."

"We can't all be as you, Aitalla. Who was it last week? Did you get Gevin Thul to leave his wife for you, hmm? Your little games are as tiresome as my own, really."

"You only say that, because you've never really had someone who's attentions required true effort. A real challenge, Raffid. Oh, they are so much fun, when they finally succumb! To win such a game is utterly delicious."

"Perhaps I'm simply more attractive than you are, sister. And that's why I don't _need_ a challenge," Raffid laughed just as they joined their uncle. Heitor was telling another one of his boring stories, the ones where he was so much better than everyone else around him. Dreary nonsense, of course.

Aitalla leaned over one last time, whispering into her brother's ear, "There will come a point where some female will not give you the time of day, you'll be so much meaningless to her. We'll see how you feel after that, won't we?"

"There is no such female, Aitalla. Now stop it."

Aitalla laughed lightly, barely interested, apparently. Raffid only shook his head, turning to pay attention to their incredibly dull uncle’s tired refrain, rather: "…so I cuffed the whelp for scuffing my boot! I mean, truly, who could tolerate such utter incompetence? And then … ergh … Abominable! Who let that creature in here?"

Raffid turned to regard the door Heitor was watching with such wide, incredulous eyes. He caught sight of the creature his Uncle was referring to -- the incredibly _female_ creature, mind you – and he felt the most visceral reaction wing its way through his entire body.

It was like an electric shock of some sort, that actually made his scrotum tighten and his cock harden just from looking at her -- from the hard, rough tread of her booted feet, up to the blasters tucked against her delightfully curved hips, and all the way across the iron-plated swell of her gorgeous breasts. Her face was a lamentable mess of scars and implants. But that was so much her appeal, too. Because she was the best of forbidden fruits, a tantalizing concoction of danger and threat; this mercenary soldier, this bounty hunter. Having her really would drive his whole family to sheerest histrionics! All that, and a perfect female form he'd delight in pulling underneath him, too.

Raffid gasped sharply, reminded himself to control the pace of his breaths, counting them. Oh, and he utterly ignored his sister's cool chuckle from nearby, too. Raffid concentrated on the woman hunter instead, watched as she scanned the room’s many noble characters gathered together in such showy splendor. The hunter bent her head sideways as another small dark-skinned woman whispered something against her ear. Their brief conference seemed broken when a Devaronian joined them, grinning as he pointed towards the table of refreshments. She shook her head ruefully towards him.

Companions, then. Or servants, more like. They were obviously a team, at least. No, this was no peahen female, like all the rest he long since became so bored playing with here. This woman … fascinated Raffid, actually. He would have her – he would use her. The game alone would be thrilling, and he very nearly his hands together in eagerness. Raffid could almost feel the malaise of the past few weeks disintegrating; and he couldn't wait.

Raffid crossed his arms over his chest and thrust his lean hip out in a flashy seductive motion which never failed to entice prettily-minded females, almost panting as the hunter ambled to stand in front of them. Her eyes were darkly brown, he noted, watching her gaze sliding between them all before she finally considered him. Raffid allowed his mouth to curl into a seductive smile before he addressed the hunter, drawling as he scanned her entire frame up and down interestedly, "My, my. I am so eager for an introduction, my dear."

The woman glanced at him, appraising him quickly. Then … she returned her attention back to his uncle, barely blinking. There was simply _nothing_! As if she sized him up and dismissed him out of hand. Like he wasn’t anything worth interest. Raffid was only confused, and he flushed when he overheard his sister’s smothered chuckle.

The woman hunter was looking towards Uncle Heitor, her eyebrow quirked with curiosity. Her voice was smoothly cadenced, and Raffid frowned when he realized he couldn’t find any hint of her origins in her speech. She wasn’t even an Imperial, though. She seemed common, ordinary … She asked Heitor, "I'm looking for someone in charge. Is that you?"

"I am Vicebaron Heitor, rather. My nephew, Duke Zacar Girard, rather, will soon put you in your place. You don't belong here."

"Yea, I've been hearing that from a lot of you people. Really makes me feel like sticking around longer, just to continue annoying you." The hunter's voice was slow and alluring, her amusement obvious enough. Her female companion chuckled softly, but the Devaronian leaned closer to say something against her ear. Raffid strained to hear what the man said to her but the comment was too low. The hunter only shrugged slightly, unconcerned.

Raffid welcomed the challenge even more. He smiled again, flashing his brilliant white teeth towards the woman. He was determined to win her notice from his uncle, to keep her there. So he crooned, “My uncle fails yet again to welcome our guests properly, obviously. Perhaps a drink. Johrian whiskey? You strike me as a lady who likes something with a bit of … bite.”

She raised an eyebrow towards him, smirking lightly, "Hey, yea. Grab me a drink. I missed breakfast." The Devaronian clapped his hands and rubbed his fingers together, murmuring an excited sound as he eyed the refreshments table again.

Heitor practically shrieked at them, "Stop encouraging her, Raffid! You've already done enough to drag our family's name through the mud!" Heitor scolded him like he was some mere recalcitrant child! And right in front of the hunter! Raffid lowered his face and bit back any angry retort. He only planned his retributions quietly. A whisper here and there would be just enough to drive off those sycophants his uncle adored so much. At least.

Heitor was pointing at the hunter, though, "As for you, leave. Now. And use the servants' entrance. People will talk if they notice someone of your … ilk, here."

Raffid frowned towards Heitor, murmuring, "Uncle, please. You're hardly behaving with courtesy towards a guest." He glanced at the hunter, dropped his gaze down towards her breasts, "Such a … lovely guest, too."

The hunter snorted, shrugged, "Yea, sure, maybe I'd be more popular if I'd worn my strapless blaster vest."

Raffid smiled and drawled slowly, " _I_ definitely would've appreciated the show."

Raffid’s father appeared right then, and they all quieted when Zacar stepped into the fray and waved one of his hands for silence, "Enough, please. Return to the festivities. I will have a few words with our guest, alone." Raffid sighed, tried lingering. But the Duke swiftly glared at him, lifting his chin abruptly in a firm order that finally convinced Raffid to step away. Heitor was the only one bold enough to truly argue – "You're not going to give the slightest attention to this mere thug, are you?" – but even he eventually withdrew.

Raffid watched the hunter follow along behind his father, blatantly watching the way her hips swayed as she went into the Duke’s private offices. Whispers sounded through the room, all of them talking of what kind of business his father could involve a bounty hunter.  Aitalla sidled up to his side, a broad smile splitting her face. She tapped a small finger against her chin, "And who was it that just said no female could resist him? Oh, the irony! I find myself nearly enchanted with her, when she barely looks at you. How amusing."

"Whatever would I do without your witty reportaire, sister, really." He looked at the closed door dividing him from the bounty hunter now, “Besides. That hunter is a woman. Any woman I wish to have, I do. You'll see she's no different."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The in-game story makes Raffid and Aitalla cousins, rather than siblings. But I thought it worked better to introduce them as brother and sister, instead. It makes the dynamics more interesting, so their interactions and rivalry are more realistic.


	41. Lesson Taught

Kastiel could hear the nobleman yelling before she even walked through the doors. Lord Malfus, was what the Duke said his name was. It wasn’t even her implants that helped her discern the loud, harsh words he was using, either. The man was just that annoyingly virulent, rather. The air itself seemed to quiver against the practically shrieking noise he was making, and the boy he was yelling at was almost huddled into a tiny, shaking ball in front of him, quavering back from the sheer force of Malfus’ temper.

Kastiel stopped, staring at the tableau – the angry visage of the arrogant aristocrat that loomed over the lanky boy, who only bent his dark head low so he looked down at the floor as if he wanted to sink through the tiles under his thin feet. "You stupid fool! That hat is worth more than your sorry excuse for a self, trust me! Bah! Get out of my sight! Take him out of my sight! Ten lashes, do you hear me? Ten lashes will remind you that next time you take more care with the items entrusted to you! Take him, damn you!" Malfus glared towards one of his guards, shoving the boy at them with a kick from his pointed boot. The boy hiccupped a panicked sound as the guards dragged him out from the room, and the sound of his sour sobbing lingered for several long moments afterwards.

He was crying.  
The way Khyriel cried.

_She could hear him crying. But he kept trying to drag himself up. It wasn’t in him to be defeated, to roll over and stop fighting. He just kept pushing himself, fighting as hard as he possibly could. But the blood dripped off him, pooling onto the ground under his lean frame. Give it another hour, maybe. Then some of the beasts in the muggy marsh nearby would catch his bloodied scent, and they would come to finish him._

_He knew that much. So he fought, fought. Just to move, to drag himself along. He needed medicine, someone to work at fixing the damage done to his back and all the way down to the backside of his thighs. Else the wounds would fester, and the infection would kill him certainly. But it hurt so much! The blows against his back actually stripped away the skin, left thick slashes into the muscle itself. He was bleeding so much. And he couldn’t keep from crying, a steady stream of tears that made pale rivulets in the dried blood and dirt on his face – but he kept fighting to stave off the dark shadows skirting edges of his sight._

_That’s when she stepped closer, humming a soothing sound. Like he was a wounded animal that needed calming. He blinked at her; he tried so hard to focus on her face, to make sense of her face and features. But her image wavered in his line of sight. But he heard her calling him through the dark of his near unconsciousness: "I'm here. You're not alone. I've got you. I'll make sure he never does it again. I promise you, Khyriel. Never again."_

Kastiel shook her head sharply, practically biting her lip hard enough she could taste blood. She shoved all of those long-ago demons back into the closest thing to forgetfulness she could effect. Which wasn’t much at all, really. Kas well knew that night-time dreams would bring all of it screaming back. But those were the bleakest moments she didn’t allow anyone to understand, to know about. If they knew, they could control her or dictate her course.

Then again, she thought … Lord Malfus actually sauntered over to a couch and settled himself back into a reclining repose against its cushions – and Kastiel supposed letting loose a little demon every so often might be useful enough. Mako was looking down the hallway where they dragged the boy, shaking her head, "Is he serious?"

Kastiel watched the nobleman stonily, "He's definitely something." Malfus shifted against the cushions where he sprawled. He stared back at Kastiel, frowning with obvious discomfiture at her blatant judgment. And by someone so much a churl, to boot. "Give me the Duke’s message," she ordered him. Ordered!

Malfus sniffed, ignoring her in favor of scanning his fingernails for pretend dirt. "You do not make demands of me, you lowborn … thing! Woman! I'll have you beaten for your impertinence before sending you back to Zacar like the mongrel you are. Maybe he'll think twice about insulting me again, and send someone of actual rank the next time. Guards! Take her away!"

Kastiel's fist lashed out. It was a sudden motion, so fast her gloved fist was almost a blur through the air between them. The heady thud from the impact of her gloved fingers against his mouth was nearly as loud as Mako's exclaiming threat towards the guards who rushed forward to stand inside the doors where they stopped. Mako held up her long-barrel blaster pistol, snarling at them, "Don't even think about it!"

The officer leading the guards raised up one of his hands before he settled back on the heels of both his feet, his hands held up in mock surrender. Malfus snarled at the guards even as a thick line of blood ran down his chin, glaring over at the armored men, "You're obliged to provide for my protection, damn you!"

The captain shrugged, "I've been defeated, my lord. Such shame requires me to resign in favor of a better lead for the men of your guard. I'll leave the premises immediately." The guard captain turned on his heel smartly, gesturing towards his men as he went. Within moments, the lot of the guards marched stiffly from the room. Malfus loosed several long curses towards the men’s backs, shouting at them with promises of retribution.

"That's quite a mouth you've got there. Your mother didn't exactly teach you right, did she? Now shut up and give me the information," Kastiel shook her fist back and forth, trying to clear the blood off her knuckles.

"How dare you insult my mother! You leather-faced harpy! I'll see you ruined, destroyed! I'll see you lashed, beaten to within an inch of your life! No! I'll have you beaten until you really are dead!" He ranted at her, raving. But Kastiel grabbed him again, gripping his collar to hold him in place as she raised up her fist again.

"You're a slow learner, heh," Kastiel didn’t even smile.

Mako smirked as Kastiel hit the nobleman. Once. Then again. And then again. The blows were har and, furious, rage-filled. Kastiel growled angrily at him, sounding angry and frustrated. Malfus finally fell back against the floor. He held up both his hands, whining and crying as terrible tears streamed down his bruised, battered face. Malfus practically sobbed, "Stop! Please! No more, don't hit me anymore! Here, here are the codes you need to unlock the message Zacar needs. Just … just take it and go!"

Kastiel stepped back. She was breathing hard, with sweat running in smooth lines down the side of her face. She sucked against her lower lip where she'd bitten clear through to keep from raging aloud against the fool man. She only leaned closer, until her nose practically bumped against the swollen, red end of his bleeding nostrils: "Doesn't feel too good when someone beats on you, does it? Maybe you should consider that, the next time you do it to someone smaller and less powerful than yourself. Don't learn, and you may end up bleeding to death on the damn floor. _That's_ what happened to the last fool I taught this lesson to, anyway."

She left him lying there in a pitiful heap, sobbing louder than the boy he enjoyed abusing moments earlier.


	42. Sightseeing at the Museum

"Damn protocol. Seems like everywhere I turn, there's some stiff nabob standing there expecting me to act just so. I think the entire lot of them live by some damn rule book." Kastiel narrowed her gaze at the serving man standing in front of her so smartly, as if considering, "You guys do have a book, don't you? Admit it."

The man's upper lip twitched. But he didn’t verbalize any kind of response, just raised up one of his oh-so-starchy eyebrows in her direction. Kas sighed, looking back down at the bowl the fellow was extending out towards her. There was a bottle of whiskey resting in the center of the bowl, cooling on a bed of ice with beads of chilled water curving down over the dark surface of the glass.  Oh yea … The stuff must’ve cost someone a pretty number of credits.

"And who sent me this gift, then?" She was vaguely curious.

The servant cleared his throat before he intoned, "It's a gift to honor the Advocate of House Girrard, in gratitude for the services she provides our House. Lord Raffid ensured it was provided you."

"Oh. Well. I did tell him to get me a drink. Sure took him long enough, mind you," Kastiel leaned over to pluck the bottle free from its icy bath. She shook it subtly to loosen the droplets of water from its edges. The servant politely bit his lip rather than laugh at the bounty hunter's complete and utter lack of pretension, the cool, unhurried appreciation that she gave the item. Like it was nothing worth posturing over. The unaffected lack of self-importance the hunter demonstrated was actually endearing, although many of the very so-called best Alderaanians would have called it gauche.

Gault smiled broadly when Kas extended the bottle towards him, grunting happily as he examined the label, "Johrian whiskey, yep. Distilled two decades past and by a family well-renowned for their skill in making the stuff, to boot. Can I have it?"

Kastiel rolled her head back and forth along her shoulders, blatantly tired, "Better have it ready once we're done on this planet, rather. We're surely going to need it by then. In fact …" Kastiel motioned towards the servant once again, hurriedly pulling her gloves off from her hands. This time the servant actually chuckled when Kas plunked both of her hands with their bruised knuckles down into the ice water clinking in the bowl he held out. But Kastiel only sighed contentedly then, ignoring the man’s amusement as her swollen digits soaked.

Mako shook her head, grinning, "And yet again a man's attentions goes right over your head, Kas. You amaze me." She held out a hand, ignoring the confused expression Kastiel bent in her direction. "Give me the whiskey, Gault. We figured it would be best if you stuck with Kas while I returned to the ship. There are some supplies to refurbish and a couple of repairs to knock out, anyway."

Gault smirked at her, "I hope that damn monkey-lizard tried getting into my quarters. I set out a rodent trap. And don't look at me like that! Nothing that would permanently damage the little beast."

Mako shrugged towards Kastiel, "Seems I have to repair whatever damage Quinnie's done to Gault's quarters, as well."

Gault started sputtering but Kas lifted her chin, ordering, "Hey, we'll down the bottle once the job here on Alderaan is finished. Keep Quinnie away from it."

"Advocate!"

Kastiel turned to regard Duke Zacar as he thundered into the room. Some ever-obsequious secretary pattered along behind him, his blonde hair plastered to his forehead with some kind of greasy gel that sent over-sweet smells wafting up above his head. Kastiel restrained herself from covering her nose from the stench, while Gault stepped smoothly behind her and Mako ducked out of the door clutching that awful expensive bottle of whiskey. Kastiel herself sighed aloud, “What is it, Duke?"

"I just received a strongly worded message from Lord Malfus, claiming you _assaulted_ him. Is this true? Did you truly strike him?" The Duke stared at Kastiel with an incredulous expression. Then he looked down at her hands where they remained suspended in a bowl full of icy water. His eyes widened.

Kastiel shrugged slowly, "I was very careful in my negotiations with Lord Malfus, Duke, believe me." Gault snorted softly under his breath, which Kas ignored. Gault had continued whispering to her every so often, compelling her to fucking kowtow to the entire population of Alderaan it seemed. She kept on disappointing the Devaronian, of course.

"Careful?" Zacar leaned over, eyeing the water in the bowl the servant continued holding up so firmly. Rivulets of blood had turned the water inside the bowl a real pink color. The servant stood stoic and silent as he held the bowl in place for the hunter, his lips pressed tight to avoid loosing any hint of amusement.

"Oh, yea. If I hadn't been careful I might have broken something important. Hard to pull the trigger on my blaster if one of my fingers is busted." Kastiel offered him a twisted grin when Zacar's jaw dropped. He looked down at the blood-strewn water again. Then he looked back at her as a slow smile etched its way across his face.

"I really do wish I'd been able to witness such an event as Malfus put so solidly in his place. That man has been a thorn in my side for ages. Thinks overmuch of himself. He's spent months now blocking my efforts to obtain better living conditions here in the Palace for my House. We've had to suffer these cramped quarters the entire time we've been here, when we deserve so much better after the sacrifices we've made for House Thul."

Kastiel looked around at the yawning rooms surrounding them, with their lavish appointments, lush carpets, and thick, brocaded fabrics that covered everything in sight. She shook her head at him, "Yea, I'm sure it's been rough." Gault lowered his head to hide his smirking grin as he rubbed against the bottom of his broken horn ever so slowly.

"Indeed. But let's not belabor ourselves over such trifles. Business demands we consider the information you obtained from Malfus' records. It seems you'll be required to inspect some of the artifacts kept secure by House Alde before we discover where Duke Corwin has disappeared to."

* * *

 

"What exactly is that, Gault?"

"What is what?"

"Give me a break, Gault. You know exactly what."

"It's nothing but a rock."

"Wasn't that pretty rock on display back there at the Alde museum?"

"Was it?"

"Gault."

"It's just a rock, Kas."

"Is that … aurodium?"

"It does sparkle, doesn't it? Especially when you turn it against the light like this, watch."

"That old man is going to have an absolute fit when he realizes one of his artifacts is missing. Bad enough we made him rush around checking for the fake."

"You think that's as bad as the blood-stains we left behind when we shot all those guards?"

"I think the old man will be more horrified by the loss of his pretty rock, than even the bleeding guards, yes."

"He should reconsider his priorities, don't you think?"

"Men tend to have funny ways of thinking about their rocks."

"Really? And what exactly do _you_ know about men's rocks?"

"Shut up, Gault."


	43. Bargain from Hell

"Gault, I swear, if you touch that box I'll stab you myself."

"I didn't touch anything. Besides. You don't carry a blade."

"Keep thinking that. By all means."

Gault frowned as he watched Kastiel duck behind the blocky table where the locked box was sitting. She poked and prodded at something on the floor just out of his sight. He sighed, "Well, you've already shot me in the ass. Why not add stabbing to the repertoire?"

"Well, _my_ stabbing wouldn't be fatal. This fool wasn't so lucky. Who's stupid enough to go into a house full of assassins and try to pick the lock on a box they set out in the middle of the damn room?" Kastiel's head popped up over the edge of the table, her eyes narrowed on Gault standing there frozen in place. He grumbled morosely as he dropped his hands back against his sides, before reaching any further for the locked box on the table. Kas harrumphed, "Never mind."

Gault looked up at the ceiling, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment across his bladed cheeks, "Hey, I didn't touch the box! That's got to count for something!"

"You didn't touch it because I would've stabbed you otherwise!"

"Doesn't change the fact I didn't touch it," Gault leaned around the edge of the table to look at the meaty legs of some human’s corpse splayed out on the floor. The figure’s boots were wide apart, akimbo. He shook his head, disgusted, "So then, oh vaunted leader. How'd Mister Stupid there die?"

Kastiel yanked the dead man’s arm, pulling him until more of the low light from the overheads brightened his slackened face. He had curled his arms closer to his body as he was dying, like he had grasped against his chest in his death throes. There were the briefest spots of blood on his chest, too, but the wounds were obviously not blaster bolts. The punctures were smaller than bolts would’ve made. Kas leaned closer and sniffed oh-so-delicately, grunting softly as she caught the tail edges of an overly sweet scent coming from the wounds. Then she turned away to examine the floor, the walls, and the table’s edges until she finally found the devices.

"Poison darts. From the nearby walls, I think. Probably activated by a touch mechanism on the box. It was a nerve agent, so the guy suffered muscle spasms as he died. Lucky for him, the dying was pretty fast." Kastiel climbed back to her feet, wiping her hands against the fabric of her pants where the armor plates didn’t cover. She eyed her companion, snorting softly at the forlorn expression on Gault’s face. She grinned at him, "It’s like whatever’s in there is just singing to you … ‘Gault, oh Gault. I want you bad. Get me, take me.’ Complete with kissy noises, even.”

Gault sighed dramatically, "That's because it's being abandoned to a hopeless sort of loneliness, never to be touched or stroked or _sold_. A tragic tale of love unwon."

"Depends on who’s doing the loving, really.” Kastiel shrugged, “Have to hand it to these Rist assassins. They do have a wicked sense of humor."

"Oh yea. I mean, I was just thinking the same exact thing,” Gault actually rolled his eyes, sarcastic. “Because it’s awesome, thinking you’ll at least give your killers a belly-laugh when you’re dying."

Kastiel chuckled as she worked quickly to adjust the levels of antitoxins in her stims, adding valuable chemicals into the devices while Gault waited for her patiently, "I’d rather laugh at the fuckers I’m killing, than not. Think my brother’s perfected the practice, even.” Kastiel toed the dead man on the floor, “Just remember, these guys aren’t going to be in your face when the attack comes. They’re sneaky about it.”

"There's something to be said for that sort of approach,” Gault shrugged one of his shoulders, adjusting his long-barreled rifle tighter against his back. “Not always the smartest thing in the world, announcing yourself with thrilling drama. You just stay out of sight. And blow their fucking heads right off their shoulders. Works every time.”

She applied the doctored stim to her thigh, before slapping a second dose sharply against Gault’s muscled buttock. Kastiel grinned when he yelped and spun a glare over his shoulder at her, snarling when she waved the empty stim back and forth. Antidotes were always worth a prick, heh. She reminded him, "Depends on the sneak, though. You didn't fare so well against the monkey-lizard."

"Oh, no, don't even go there. That monkey-lizard was more a torture, than any kind of attack. Just plain mean," Gault kept right on complaining as they stepped into a hallway off from the entranceway.

Kastiel frowned as she stopped, looking around with narrow, judging discernment. It was the sheer quiet that bothered her; she didn't trust it. There was … presence. Like someone was only just nearby, out of sight. But watching. Sizing her up. Kas’ nose curled unhappily.

_These guys are testing me_ , Kastiel thought. She wondered what the Rist might want from her. Because it was a given they wanted something. Rumors pegged them as the ones who killed the Panteer queen and her heir and tumbled the entire world into civil war over the throne. Ulgo’s paid killers, basically. Took real skill to take down an entire dynastic line, especially one so blasted high up there in prestige and monied protection. But not only did Rist manage it; but they also kept every evidence of their involvement from being exposed. Alderaan could only conjecture over the truth.

Kastiel would’ve rather avoided grabbing their attention, mind you. That’s what Gault called this present foray down into the lower chambers of the Rist estate – foolhardy nonsense. But the Rists also kept ahold of Corwin, and Kastiel was just tenacious enough to come all the way down here to get her own prize. Or maybe it was determination, she thought. Definitely stubbornness. Oh yea, stubborn was the best word.

And that's pretty much when the doorway behind them both slammed shut and gas started hissing through vents in the upper line of the walls to fill the air. Kastiel snarled, "Just … fuck. Down low to the floor, Gault. Fucking move!" Never let it be said the Devaronian was stupid. Gault coughed one time before he knelt down low against the floor and waited with bated breath for Kastiel to work over the door controls.

Gault lifted his rifle up and sighted down its long length, eyeing the incredibly slim apertures where the cloyingly sweet gas was emanating. His rifle spit – once … twice … three times. The air rang with distinct metallic clanging sounds. But the hissing tapered off into quiet slowly, one by one. Kastiel finally kicked the door panel, growling angrily. The door banged back open again.

Gault cheered like a fucking rooster with its tail feathers all flared out and beaming at her, “Hah! Beat you to the punch! Did you see those shots I made? Skills! I've got them."

"Stop bragging, Gault. It's embarrassing."

"Hey, I am not embarrassed."

"Keep it up and I'll start telling everyone what your bare ass looks like sticking up in the air."

"You are a cruel, terrible woman, Kas."

"Cruel and terrible would suit us well," a new voice interrupted. Kastiel inhaled slowly as she stepped through the door and eyed the holotransmitted image over the table against the far wall. She bit her lip to keep from insulting the man transmitting to her, because most men tended to take offense when you told them the hat they were wearing so proudly looked about as dumb as a nerf decked out in a tutu.  And she would rather not insult a potential client.

Yea … The Rists were going to offer her a job.

Kastiel kept her features blank as she prepared to negotiate. But her mind whirled suddenly, remembering Mako of all things. The way Mako hugged her slender frame that first hour after they left Nar Shaddaa, long after making the Eidolon bleed out through his broken jaw right there on the floor at their feet. Why Mako was thinking of _that_ , instead of still smiling like a sap about the pleasing hours she spent rolling around in one of the cantina beds with that Corso Riggs guy, instead – well, it purely confused Kastiel at the time. Corso at least made Mako happy enough.

But Mako quieted when they settled down for a meal, there in the Bad Boy’s mess. There were ghosts in her dark eyes just then, and Kastiel held her breath when Mako murmured to her softly, _"We're not like him, are we? Like the Eidolon, I mean. It's like he wasn't even … I mean, he was already gone, ruined, even before you went at him. He was just …cold. Like he was already dead."_

_"No, Mako. It’s not that we don’t kill. Sometimes we have to. But we're not like him."_

_"Yea, but what if he wasn't always like that, either? What if he started out a lot like us? What if … What made him like that?"_

_"I don’t think he was ever like you or me. He was on his own long before then."_

Mako sat back, thinking. _"You mean, it's friends that keep us from losing ourselves. People we care about."_

_"Mandoes call it Clan.”_ Kastiel nodded, _“Always have something worth fighting for, worth killing for. Hell, worth dying for. Coming back to someone who's willing to love you even through the shit and muck and pain of it – that's what it takes, Mako. Trust me."_

Kastiel crossed her arms over her chest now. Gault stepped close behind her, tense, alert. He held his rifle loosely against the top of his thighs and close to his body, and he waited. Kastiel shrugged slowly, "Gault’s got a big mouth. I'm always reminding him to shut it."

The man chuckled charmingly, "You do have most unusual friends, yes. And he is a friend, is he not? I'd hate to see you … lose him."

Kastiel scowled at the imaged figure, dropping any pretense at being nice, "Threatening my people gets us off on a bad foot right from the start. I’m betting you don’t want to piss me off, though. So just get down to it. What the fuck do you want?"

"Protective. We supposed you might be.” He waved a ghostly hand over the terminal edge in front of him, haggling, “You might be willing to put your own life on the line. But someone you care for? You're so utterly dogged in your pursuit as it is. It makes me wonder how much stronger you'd persist for a loved one. Tell me, is the Devaronian a lover, perhaps?"

She only stood there staring at the holo mutely, unfazed and uncaring. Behind her, Gault shifted his stance, so the leathers of his boots and vest rasped in the silence that filled the room. Kastiel could feel him, knew he was angry and offended. She could practically feel him grinding those sharp teeth of his. Part of it was the lingering feelings for that long-ago lover that was so much a part of him, still. But a lot of it was the growing sense of respect he felt for Kastiel herself, too.

"I see then. Friends. And little chance of that changing, even. How interesting."

"You're boring me."

The man laughed lightly, slightly unnerved to be so off-balanced by the hunter’s calm assuredness. Like every bit of information and insight of herself was only what _she_ chose to give him. He wasn’t winning the game, damn it. He effected new smiles, "Of course. I should have remembered how … persistent you are. Very well. You do business with House Girarrd, work closely even with the Duke. That House needs to be eliminated."

Kastiel shrugged, "They're useful to me, however. Until I capture the Durasteel Duke, I need them."

"Once you've captured or destroyed Duke Corwin, their use will have been ended. Your interest in their welfare at that point will be finished, correct?"

Kastiel narrowed her gaze as she considered the figure over the terminal, "Duke Corwin was supposed to be here with the Rists. Where’d he run off to this time?" The Rist man twitched at being caught out so distinctly. He even fidgeted slowly. Kastiel enjoyed flitting tendrils of amusement as she watched him.

"Duke Corwin has fled our House, making for House Organa. We’re not actually certain what appeal he made them, nor even why he went. It’s not in his nature to avoid an enemy, considering his reputation for ready duels." The man’s gaze hardened into terrible meanness, "However, he left us without providing compensation for our protection and assistance. _That_ is not acceptable. Which is entirely why you remain alive at the moment, mind you. He wanted us to destroy you."

Kastiel broke out into a real smirk, unable to hide her amusement anymore, “Yea, not paying your assassins demonstrates bad business sense, at the least. Especially when those assassins were good enough to kill off a queen, even. You’d think Corwin would be smarter than that.” Kastiel arched an eyebrow in his direction, “ _I’m_ not stupid enough to pay anyone to kill my enemies."

He frowned at her mention of the Panteer queen, his discomfiture increasing. Kas was gratified to keep the man on such a terrible edge. He exhaled roughly, "But Rists are quick to use any number of assets when they present themselves, rather. And you’re particularly useful to us at the moment. You can get so much close to the Girards."

"Useful is good. Good enough, at least." Kastiel leaned forward, "Because the next time you threaten one of my friends, I'll make sure to show you how far from useful I really can be."

He smiled as he realized she would carry out the task. Bounty hunters were so wonderfully … contractable. "Be careful, hunter. Fervent protectiveness can be used against you. Until precious people are important liabilities. Someone might try taking them from you. Not today, not me, no. But … well, you never know, do you?"

"They can try, of course. I've killed those types of idiots before, too."


	44. Job's a Job

Kastiel recognized the Imperial first. And of course the lieutenant earned himself a sweet promotion, as she noted the captain’s rank emblazoned on his fine coat. She started to turn, ready to point out Quinnie’s namesake to Gault.

But then she watched Malavai Quinn lifting his own Sith lord onto the back of one of those slender-framed Thrantas. “Lusiel,” Kastiel muttered her sister’s name softly and under her breath. Lusiel squirmed in the saddle, obviously enthusiastic about taking flight on the back of the beast. Her handsome captain joined her, leaping nimbly into the saddle behind her.

Kastiel slowly exhaled and ducked her head to keep either of them from noticing her. But she watched them surreptitiously. Lusiel was … happy. Kastiel bit her lip, trying to mesh this picture of her sister with the solemn, watchful Sith she was so normally whenever Kas caught sight of her. But the briefest glimpses over the years was all Kastiel ever had of her sister, stolen moments like this one. Rare enough that Kas had to wonder now if her perception wasn’t over-limited.

She could see Lusiel teasing the captain even, moving her bottom into the well of his hips with a playful twist. Kastiel’s lips quirked with amusement as she watched them playing. Playing!

Gault grunted amusedly, too, "So yea. Heard about that Sith, there. She gave some bastard nobleman a right nasty shock right there in the throne room of the Ulgo Palace a few weeks ago. You remember the one, don't you? 'I'm Chrimar Novenn! Kiss my boot, you peasant!'" Gault gestured dramatically, his hand held aloft as if he was posing on a stage. Kastiel grinned sideways over his theatrics, nodding. Gault thumbed in Lusiel’s direction, "Yep. He ended up pissing his pants right there in front of them all. Seems Sith don't have much patience with stupidity. Go figure."

“Hey, I’ve met some really stupid Sith. But Lusiel’s never been that typical, either. She’s more like our father that way – good thing, since no one’s managed to beat her yet," Kastiel’s tone was thick. She was proud of her sister, obviously. But Gault heard the common worry behind the boast, too. He shifted uneasily, thinking how much he heard of the Sith and their simple, brutal politics.

The Sith destroyed the weak. Especially among their own ranks. Gault licked his lips thoughtfully, standing there with Kastiel as the Thranta rose into the air. The smallish Sith female laughed aloud as the beast took flight, and Gault smiled. He turned to Kastiel, "Never would've pegged you for an Imperial, Kas. ‘Cept you look so much like that Sith. Surprised the shit out of me, actually. You certainly don't _sound_ like an Imp."

"What, cause all the Imperials make it a point of announcing where they’re from, huh? Careful, Gault … there are sneaky-assed operatives who count on blindness like that,” Kastiel shrugged. She was more gratified learning Gault didn’t threaten or expose the bonds she shared with her sister, actually. “But I don’t belong to the Empire, Gault. Don't ever think they can direct me. I shed that accent and a long fucking time ago. No, I fight for myself and for my own, and that’s all. The Empire can go rot."

"Blunt, as usual. Half the reason I like you, is that I always know where we stand. You’re so … straightforward, Kas," Gault grinned at her. He looked towards the small dot against the sky, as the Thranta slowly disappeared. "You’re also protective, like the Rist fellow said. While I’m glad to be in the small circle of people you’d rather not see dead, I get the feeling it’s your blood that’s really important. Even if they do seem dead ignorant about you."

Kastiel shrugged, turning to bypass the marketplace as the two of them walked steadily towards the house where the Girards gathered so ostentatiously. She murmured, "I failed a brother and sister once before. Don't intend to have it happen again. Anyone who strikes against my own, I’ll fuck them up so badly people'll pen sonnets about it and sing for generations."

Gault was quiet for a time, as he padded along beside her. She could actually hear the creak of his rifle strap when the weapon shifted along his back as they weaved in and around milling pedestrians along the streets. Kastiel counted the moments, knowing it wouldn’t take long before Gault chimed in with something witty and amusing. And like clockwork, Gault finally grumbled, "I myself would never, ever think to even lay a harmful pinkie finger to any one of your siblings, Kastiel. Not even a small fingernail! Just want you to know that."

Kas chuckled, "You're just afraid of losing your other horn."

"Damned right I am," Gault almost tripped over a man's boot right then, stumbling slightly before catching himself. He nodded towards the nobleman he fell against, apologizing. But the man actually scowled and snarled an insult concerning the color of Gault’s skin. Gault guffawed aloud, so that heads turned to watch the spectacle, "Red devil? Seriously? That's the best you can come up with? Please! I've been called far better! 'Pitiless Maelibus' was a good one. I liked 'Crimson Serpent'. Almost changed my name again for that one! Had a lady friend who called me 'long tongued freak' once but not sure she meant it as an insult."

Kastiel chimed in helpfully, "Puckish kobold! Rascally Danchaf! Oh, yea! Or cheeky goblin!"

"See? Far better! You, sir, need practice with your insults! It is a refined artform, in fact. You require some particular assistance in better utilizing the skill. I could recommend some teachers. Kastiel, here, would gladly take your credits in exchange for her help, I'm sure," Gault bowed low at the waist, his hand held deferentially across his chest. The gesture was so pantomimed, so obvious, that onlookers actually tittered with humor. But the youngish nobleman stiffened with affront over the mockery.

"How dare you mock me!" The man pointed one long finger towards Gault, glowering with righteous indignation. "I do not have time to banter with witless fools."

"Better, better. You could still use some practice. By all means, continue."

The man very nearly stomped his foot. Kastiel watched him turning even more thrilling shades of red and she chuckled meanly as she watched him struggling to find some words to spit at them. Hey, maybe he would really spit, you never knew. But the guy only snarled past his clenched teeth after spluttering for a few moments, "You are both trying my patience.”

Gault tsk'ed sadly at him then, his long features dramatically morose, "Trying? Kas, I do believe our own skills need some work if this man says we're only _trying_."

She nodded with melodramatic seriousness, "Thank him for the practice regardless, Gault. He’s been a decent enough training dummy, at least." They laughed as the man stomped back over to his companions, the three of them a veritable coop full of fancy birds standing there. Considering their pretty clothes, at least. All fluff and down making their plumage look feathery and absurdly cheerful. It was all ruined by the trio turning to shoot them nasty looks before bending their heads close together to whisper and argue among themselves, too.

Kastiel caught them speaking some familiar name, though. Silly twats never imagined the implants in her ears made her hearing more exceptional, than not. She cocked her head, listening to their low commentary there in the small alcove where they huddled together: "There's no time, Damlin! You got the recording of the young Raffid, right? Now all you have to do is confront him with it. Once he's properly terrified, take him to his father and get the property!"

"I wouldn't mind getting a copy of the recording, after, by the by, Damlin."

"What? Do you know what I went through to get that holorecording? My wife wouldn't agree to the task, anyway, even after I told her how much land we would win for our family estate if only she played along.” He sighed tiredly, “Instead, I had to pay real monies for the drugs I used to spice her meal that night. It's a wonder Raffid went ahead and took her, considering she could barely stay awake, mumbled refusals several times, and even cried during the blasted tryst. It's pathetic to watch, from start to finish, believe me."

"It's her unwillingness that makes the thing so sweet, though. Come now, Damlin, I'll give you whatever sum you paid for the drugs, _if_ I get a copy of the recording."

The man seemed to ponder the business. For a small moment, anyway, "Very well. I'll send a bill along to your estate. Once I have the total in my accounts, I'll give you a copy of the holo."

Kastiel's hilarity died a swift death as she listened to the sordid transaction. Her nose curled in disgust, rather. Gault shook his head, shrugging, "What? What'd I do? Whatever it was, it was some other horned guy who did it. I swear!" She glanced at the Devaronian then. Gault’s hands were raised up shoulder-level, in mocking surrender.

"You know, this planet is just as fucked up as Dromund Kaas. Only, they're more honest about it in the Empire. Here, it's all prettied up, complete with fancy clothes and oh-so-civilized language," Kas snorted.

"Oh. Well.” Gault shrugged, “I thought you were going to say something about how gloomy it is on Dromund Kaas all the time. Does it ever stop raining there?"

Kas blinked at her friend, wondering when he had chanced to actually visit Dromund Kaas. It was always smart to know what kind of trouble he made on some world _before_ they visited there; if only to avoid the authorities who tried stopping him setting foot out the spaceport. Kastiel sighed, "As if I give a shit about the weather."

"Certainly not if you actually grew up on Dromund Kaas. The weather there's simply awful," Gault drawled.

"Been there often, have you?"

"Oh, all the time. I have a vacation home, right smack in the middle of Kaas City."

"Of course."

"It was my horns. They loved the horns."

"Was that where you lost it, then?"

So they were laughing when they ducked through the doors of the Girard estate. Which might be why Aitalla noticed them through the hubbub of servants and other fancily dressed people moving around just inside the entranceway. Kastiel sighed aloud when Aitalla called over the din towards them, waving imperiously, "Oh, Advocate! How fortuitous that you've arrived at just this moment ... You are required." Kastiel turned towards the lady.

Aitalla was perched on a bench there in the vestibule, surrounded by the prettiest potted plants Kastiel had ever seen. Aitalla’s gown glowed scarlet, until she herself looked like a brilliant flower tucked into the corner among the plants. Kastiel thought she’d be better served stuck in a pot, rather. And placed somewhere her thorns didn’t reach.

But Aitalla _was_ lovely enough. She attracted prey to her, with her pale skin and dancing eyes. And the poor sap kneeling down on the floor in front of her knees didn’t seem so aware of the darts she was about to shoot at him. Aitalla pointed down at her so-called suitor, crooning, "This fool actually believes I’m fool enough to consider wedding him. The sheer temerity is offensive! Remove him at once!"

Her erstwhile lover gaped at her in some astonishment, "But you said … wait! What is this? I thought … But don't you like me?" The man wasn’t so pretty as Aitalla. His large frame was pudgy with fat from excess and a lack of exercise. But his big brown eyes were soulful and warm; he would likely treat Aitalla with more care and consideration than her own family ever did, Kastiel thought.

Of course, his square-shaped head was covered by one of those weird hats the Alderaanian nobles seemed so much keen on wearing, too. This one even had a little fringed tassel hanging along the side. What was it with the damned hats, anyway? Kastiel rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, sighing.

But Aitalla flounced daintily on her pretty little bench seat, "Actually, you're not even amusing me anymore." Aitalla sighed with a flourish, managing to look gorgeous even as she did it. Kastiel thought the effect was impressive, even. She blinked at Aitalla’s display of pretty temper, listened to her trilling voice, "Advocate! Remove him, now!"

But Kas just scoffed at her, "I'm not your damn servant. Do it yourself."

Aitalla's jaw dropped open from shock. Kastiel wondered if anyone had ever stopped long enough to tell the little twit "no" to anything. Doubtful, actually. But Aitalla was stubborn enough to persist, "Oh, I see. People like you need to be bought first. Very well. I have a rather sizable allowance I'm willing to share with you. But you have to do as I ask."

Kastiel thought Aitalla’s sneer – the way her nostrils twisted so delicately and her mouth curved into an adorable moue -- was particularly well done. The woman must’ve practiced to achieve such a perfect expression of deriding scorn on that comely face of hers. Kastiel imagined her in front of a mirror even, and the humor of the imagery kept her from hauling off to slap the woman. Kas even smiled, "People like me, huh? Hey, Gault. This one is far more skilled with insults. Not so much negotiation, though." Kas heard the unmistakable sound of Devaronian sniggering coming from behind her.

"Come now, bounty hunter. You have little appreciation just how large an allowance I receive. Trust me. It's bountiful. Precisely why this fellow is kneeling at my feet, in fact. He needs my dowry far more than he truly wants me," Aitalla shrugged a delicate shoulder, her gracefulness an unabashed métier she simply had to have practiced.

Kastiel glanced at the hulking chump in question, saw the man was still blinking in astonishment at the course of the conversation. _Poor fool didn't even see it coming_ , Kas thought. She looked back at Aitalla, saw that her brown eyes were gleaming so brightly the dark orbs nearly glittered with her pleasure. It wasn’t mere enjoyment. Aitalla was practically tantalized by the humiliation and degradation she managed to cause the men around her; she got off on hurting the men who wanted her, degraded them. She would let them get oh so close, right before she ripped and mangled their hearts to pieces.

Like a vicious bug only set on consuming its prey. Even her prettiness was only a pretense. Inside, Aitalla Girard was as rotten as any skinned fruit left to decay on the ground. Kastiel shook herself, disgusted. She reached down to yank the man to his feet, but he offered no real resistance. He did glance at her with a dazed expression on his face, his distress so palpably obvious it could’ve been cut with a knife.

But Kas just stared stone-faced towards Aitalla. She barked at the noblewoman, "Give Gault the credits, lady. I'll take tubby here, outside."

She heard Aitalla murmur something negative about dealing with Kastiel's so-called servants, which Gault of course protested. Because he was “no one’s damned servant”, and his shrilling tone just wasn’t so dulcet as Aitalla’s, either. But Kastiel was moving fast towards the entrance of the house, pulling the man’s fat arm as he stumbled to keep up with her. Shit, the guy was near to crying by the time Kas opened the door.

She looked at him, and his eyes froze when they took in the expression on her scarred face. She leaned closer to him, just enough only he could hear her and she said, "You're lucky to be free of that. Think how much worse it would've been if she had said 'yes' and you were forced to live with her every single day for the rest of your tortured life. It never would have stopped – because she _liked_ it."

The man's eyes widened. She idly wondered what his name was, as she watched the wheels turning, the realization dawning just how close he’d skirted real disaster. Small achievements, really. That’s what came from teaching these nobleman, that prettiness sometimes only hid the poison. She nodded emphatically, "Now give her a decent enough show, huh? So that she refuses to bother you anymore after today." He did grimace but his chin went up with brief gratitude as he faced her proudly enough. Then Kas raised her voice loud enough for Aitalla to hear, completing the harridan's mean entertainment for the day: "Get out of here, lard-ass! The lady doesn't want anything to do with you! And don't come back, either!"

She shoved the man through the doorway, saw him bumbling his way into the street. She stood there watching to see that he caught himself before falling face-forward onto the street’s pavement. He resolutely ignored the people snickering at him as they passed him along the street; just turned to face Kastiel, still framed there in the doorway. Then he bent low in a gesture of proud, noble respect, "Thank you, dear lady."

Kastiel nodded subtly before stepping back to shut the door. Aitalla continued arguing with Gault over the sum she owed Kas now, and Kastiel spun on her booted foot to stalk closer to the pair, glaring, "This world is insane. Look, lady. Credits. Now. Or I swear I'll march out that door and tell every man I meet what a fucking bitch you really are; I’ll sing it in the middle of the damned throne room itself."

Aitalla scowled, suddenly looking far less attractive as the first honest expression Kastiel could remember seeing on her face washed over her features. "Fine. But don't think to bother me with anymore of your nonsense. Is that clear?"

"Like crystal even. Now move. I didn't come here to pander for your amusements."

Kastiel spun around Aitalla, almost marching as she left the vestibule. Gault pattered after her, his step light and steady as they moved through the space. She snorted, "And there's one of the most un-useful humans I've ever met. Damn vampire of a female. Bloodbat! No! A leech! Cause a leech is slimy gross, to boot." Gault just followed Kas and rather enjoyed her grumbling refrain. It was too bad, really. Gault would’ve enjoyed spending more time on Alderaan, with its plush refinements to wallow in. But Kastiel didn’t seem to enjoy the filfth quite so much.

Zacar watched the bounty hunter approach with a certain level of bemusement, trying to determine if her mood was dangerous to him. She certainly appeared to be unhappy, at least. But her expression smoothed out when she caught sight of him as she stepped into the room, and he realized it wasn’t him that offended her just then. _All business, from one moment to the next_ , he thought.

"Good day, Advocate. I'm told you successfully penetrated House Rist! You are … remarkable. Perhaps when this business with my cousin, the Duke, is finished – well then you might be enticed to support House Girard with a more permanent position," Zacar laced his voice with sugary enticement. Totally wasted, Kastiel thought. She had never had any real sweet tooth worth boasting; she preferred her meals to be laced with more fiery spices than syrupy glop. But she bit back the response she wanted to give the Baron about her opinions of Alderaan. She still needed the man.

"Nope. Have other places to go. Other people to kill. You know how it is," Kas rolled her shoulders subtly and watched the nobleman’s face droop with disappointment.

"Indeed. Well, then. At least you may assist us in the meantime." He settled back on his heels, holding his arms in a pensive pose behind his back as he paced in front of her, "The Durasteel Duke has fled House Rist, as I'm sure you know. He's taken up residence with the Organnas, in fact! The shame of it! If his presence, there in such treasonous company, becomes known – our entire family's place here with the Thuls, will be threatened! It can't be allowed! You must go there and destroy him. It's essential, now … What? What is the meaning of this interruption?"

Kastiel turned to watch as Zacar’s son was shoved through the door. Gault rumbled with amusement from recognizing the toady nobleman shoving Raffid around. But he didn’t make any hilarious remarks as the jerk kicked Raffid even harder. Too bad, Kas thought as she watched the spectacle. Raffid limped towards his father with over-effected distress. Kastiel almost clucked at youngster with pretended sympathy, just for the pure show.

The nobleman – Damlin was his name, Kastiel remembered – he pointed a reedy finger towards young, stupid Raffid, "This little rapscallion you call a son has cuckolded me, baron! Damn you, all! I expect recompense! If you don't give me that winter haven of yours I'll make sure the Thuls hear of it, I assure you!"

"What? Are you mad? That estate has been in my family for generations! How dare you! Raffid, what is the meaning of this?" Zacar was almost bounding against the floor in sheer agitation, his face mottling brilliant shades of red from flushed anger.

"Nothing, father. A small bit of dalliance, is all,” Raffid sniffed disdainfully. Kastiel bent her head back and forth between each one of the three men, quietly watchful as the show unfolded. Damned family was whacked, she thought.

"Dalliance? Are you joking? You only just besmirched a young maid and left her with a child to provide for!"

Damlin guffawed. "Sticking his wick into a great many candles, is he? I mean it, Girard. I insist I have the deed to the lands. Posthaste."

Duke Zacar trembled with the bitterest anger as he glared towards Damlin. Then he caught sight of Kastiel, still standing there. The bounty hunter was watching the episode with her arms crossed over her chest. Her blasters gleamed brightly against her curved hips, shining with promise. Zacar pointed. "Advocate! Shoot this fool! I'll provide you just compensation if you act on my behalf."

"Shoot him where?"

"Here!"

"No, where? His chest, his leg … what?"

"In the face! Kill him!"

Kastiel never hesitated. Hells, she didn’t even look at the rapist nobleman before she lifted one of her blasters sideways at him, "Hey, it's your money." The bolt fired hotly through the air, and Gault murmured another snickering sound. Damlin’s face just disappeared, though. There was a flash of scarlet as blood bloomed and he loosed one single squeal in shocked surprise as he died. Then he was falling, and he hit the floor in a loud squelching thud.

Gault patted her on the back of her shoulder, muttering with amusement, "By the time we're done here today, we should have quite a windfall. Keep shooting them, Kas!" She shook her head, slowly rolling her shoulder from the tight stance.

Zacar smiled down at the bloody remains, "I don’t believe I have ever quite enjoyed an expenditure of credits any more. I'm very pleased, Advocate."

"I imagine his wife will be even happier than you, though. Gault, have Mako get a hold of all this bastard's data files and secure them for the lady," Katiel shrugged as she replaced her blaster against her hip. Raffid was standing there, his eyes glazed as he looked at her. Kas shifted uncomfortably, thinking he looked like a panting puppy begging for treats. She considered tossing a stick through the far door, just to see if he would chase it.

"Raffid!" Baron Zacar had turned to glare at his son, "You're to remain in your quarters! This entire debacle is your fault. How many times must I tell you that control might save us effort, money, more? Get out of my sight!" Kastiel rolled her eyes as Raffid stumbled out of the room, ignoring his worshipful drooling expression. She only barely kept herself from commenting on the absurdity of the Duke sending his son to bed without supper as a form of punishment for raping a man’s wife.

Gault finally chuckled for real, though. Only because Kastiel really was still confused by Raffid’s fascination. But Zacar ignored the Devaronian’s expression of humor, bending a serious look towards Kastiel, "Now, Advocate. Here's where you need to go …"

* * *

 

Kastiel settled back against the edge of her Orlean, gripping the handles of the speeder carefully. She glanced over at Gault as he growled and complained against his own speeder’s console, "I've never been able to balance quite right on these things."

Kas raised one brow towards the Devaronian, laughing quietly, "Didn't you pass yourself off as a speeder salesman, Gault?"

"Sure. Didn't have to operate the damn things, though."

Kastiel actually guffawed, hard enough she nearly stumbled off the foot-rests where her boots were balanced, "A speeder salesman who can't operate a speeder. That's classic."

"Don't know why.” Gault sniggered at her, “You're a woman who can't seem to figure out when a man wants you. Just because someone possesses certain equipment doesn't make them an expert on how its used, huh?"

Kastiel frowned, "What're you talking about?"

"That Raffid guy. He practically drools whenever you walk into the room!"

"Raffid?" Kastiel grimaced, "That nasty little bug? Forget for a moment that he doesn’t even hear the word no when a woman’s not interested, mind you. But! He’s also a skinny, scrawny little turd of a brat. Could you see me sparring with him? I'd bust him in under an hour! Complete with broken bones!"

Gault examined her, his dark red face canted sideways. He looked curious suddenly, "So is that what you're looking for? A man you can spar with? That's what you want from a male?"

Kastiel fell quiet for a moment, contemplative. Only the gentle humming of their speeders kept the brief space there outside the house from being over-quiet. Gault pulled himself into the seat of his speeder, balancing himself carefully as he waited for Kastiel to consider the question, and then he glanced at her. Kastiel’s eyes were warmly brown, like chocolate, "A man should be strong enough, yes. Someone who can meet me head-on, who knows himself and knows what he fights for. Someone honest. Brave."

"A real paragon …” Gault almost bit off his tongue as the truth suddenly burst in his mind, like a flashbulb of insight, “ _That’s_ why you don’t look at any of the fuckers who chase after you! You’ve already set your heart on one single male. Come on … Is he human? Or did you at least use better judgment?” Gault considered prodding against Kastiel’s emotional attachments. Except he realized it was truly … well, emotional. Mocking her feelings didn’t seem so funny all of a sudden, and Gault squirmed in his speeder’s seat as he realized he really liked the dark-haired bounty hunter.

"He’s worth looking at, yea. But he kept me safe, pulled me out of the dark," Kastiel muttered, looking away from him towards the edge of the city’s streets.

Gault rasped out, leaning towards her helpfully. Except that he nearly lost his balance atop his speeder and fought to regain his seating then. He ended up yelping, "Damn thing! I hate damned speeders! Did I ever tell you that, Kas? Huh? Well now you know!"

She chuckled, "Come on, you hobgoblin. Let's get this hunt done so we can get off this blasted world."

"Hobgoblin? Oh! Nice one. We'll have to come up with some new insults as we're going along."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A Maebilus was a demonic-looking creature native to the planet Iego in the Outer Rim. They lived primarily underground, there, so weren't as familiar to most people as Devaronians were. They didn't have wings but their scaly skin gleamed golden; they were considered quite beautiful. However, they possessed natural claws, a pair of horns on their forehead, and razor-sharp teeth. Their skin could resist blaster bolts.
> 
> \- A Danchaf, sometimes called a tree goblin, was a small pack animal native to the planet of Garban in the Outer Rim, near the Corellian Run. They were humanoid in stature with clawed hands and horned shoulders and heads. They nimbly climbed the trees of their homeworld. They were generally considered non-sentient, although the Jenets - small, rodent-like creatures who controlled Garban - told tales of Danchaf that once ruled their world.
> 
> \- Bloodbats were vampiric bats native to the planet Tenupe on the Sparkle Run. Tenupe was controlled by Killiks, until the Swarm War in 36 ABY (after Battle of Yavin), when the Chiss Ascendency took over the world.


	45. The Duke and the Hunter

_Any grown-up will tell you, not all fairy tales have a happy ending. Indeed. Sometimes the princess is ruined. Sometimes the prince meets a lowly end. Long before they can truly reach any hint of a happily ever after, even. But those tales have valuable lessons to impart, too._

_Once, there was a strong and gallant Duke. He was called Corwin. He was greatly handsome, of course. But virtuous, as well. He fought for peace on Alderaan during a time of great strife, when all the houses battled each other. He never backed down from any fight, fearlessly meeting rogues and villains on the dueling field, even, if only to defend the honor and nobility of his house. He was renowned for his bravery throughout the galaxy!_

_Like all brave heroes, though, Corwin had a dastardly rival. His cousin, Raffid, was a mean and vicious rodent of a man. He delighted in nothing so much as bothering and hurting the sweet hearts of ladies and maidens alike. And he was dreadfully envious of his cousin, the Duke, despising him for his attractions and prominence. So much that one day he cruelly attacked Corwin's sister, Muriel, taunting her so badly she collapsed into tears of distress right there in front of an entire company of party-goers._

_Corwin came upon Raffid laughing at his sister's misery, and he became incensed. He raged against Raffid, demanding that he meet Corwin in a duel of fisticuffs to best atone for Muriel's upset. But Raffid was afraid, knowing of Corwin's expertise on the dueling field in all manners of confrontation. So he gathered together a band of brutes that he called friends and he ambushed the noble Corwin on the road outside the dueling ground._

_Alas for terrible Raffid, fortune did not smile on him. For Corwin managed to overcome his assailants, beating the lot of them soundly. Raffid was forced to endure the ribald jokes and taunts of all Alderaan's nobility in the days to come, as they mocked his blackened eye and fat, swollen lip. They all laughed to see him brought so much to account for his miserable behavior._

_Raffid seethed against the humiliation that Corwin had provided him. He learned nothing for the terrible low behavior he had made and what it wrought him. No. Instead, he plotted, he planned evil doings. And when the time was right, he struck Corwin a terrible blow. He enticed a young lady that Corwin was greatly in love with, until she turned away from Corwin, confused and tricked by Raffid's machinations. Raffid then taunted Corwin for the lady's choice, bragging to every one who would listen of the lady's true attentions, dishonoring her most terribly and in front of all company. The young woman was utterly humiliated, disgraced in front of everyone; she hid herself away from all, crying in shamed seclusion._

_Outraged on her behalf, Corwin demanded satisfaction from Raffid, insisting they meet in a true duel this time. So that he could regain the lost honor of his sweet lady. But even then Raffid refused to act with principle. Instead, he went to his uncle, an evil, terrible man who possessed various lowborn means of assassination, such as poison, and he obtained from him a particularly virulent toxin. He smeared the poison on Corwin's blankets, so that when he slept, he ingested the venomous substance into his system. By morning, brave Corwin lay sick and dying._

_In terrible fear for her brother's life, Muriel fled the house with her brother's body, desperate to save him. Yet no matter how much effort the healers focused on the Duke - even days suspended in kolto – none of it was enough! Corwin continued to waste away, his mind lost to death even though his body persisted, and all chance for peace through his effort was lost with him. Muriel, though, bravely stepped forward. She donned her brother's face through trickery and subterfuge, trying desperately to secure the peace that Corwin had fought so hard for through those long days._

_Raffid, however, continued to fear, not knowing Corwin's true fate. And he begged his father, a Duke himself, but barely noble and despised by many, for help. Raffid’s father looked to someone, some means to achieve his family's recompense, and he found one of the galaxy’s renowned hunters, one who'd come to Alderaan seeking the Duke._

_Some say the hunter sought personal gain or wealth in the hunt for Duke Corwin. That may be true, perhaps. There are those who say the hunter was seeking revenge of some kind, rather. The Duke's inherent nobility makes that unlikely, though. The best answer, I think, is that the hunter was seeking a prize not one of us native here to Alderaan can ever really understand._

_Regardless of the hunter's true purpose, the hunt spanned the world, as the hunter sought the Duke across the breadth of Alderaan. And Muriel, carrying her brother's sickened body, fled from the hunter's pursuit time and then time again. She was so desperate she even looked to assassins and spies to keep them hidden. But none of it was enough, and the hunter eventually found them, cornered them._

_The hunter approached the Duke's sister, with both weapons drawn and lips twisted with determination. And the lady Muriel cried out in fear, begging for consideration of her plight, exposing the truth of her deception. Her agony, her terror was clear. And the hunter stopped, considering. The hunter sorrowed at the lady's fear, and withdrew, taking the now dead Duke as prize for the hunt, and leaving Muriel to live and to grieve._

_But do not feel sad, young ones. Please. The hunter returned to Raffid’s ignoble father, to find him felled by the cruel machinations of his own family, and confronted them all, including his vile son. The hunter delivered them unto justice. And that, my sweet young ones, is how the House Girard was destroyed, brought low at the hands of one brave hunter._

_Never forget, that justice demands the best of us. Else we will pay the price. Even if the means by which we're given up to it comes from the most unlikely of sources._

**\- "The Duke and the Hunter", a fairy tale, as told to Princess Leia Organa and her companions, by her tutor, Mistress Agithinia Organa, in 11 BBY, during an afternoon tea. For holotransmission recording, see record number 15-A458 in the "Alderaan Histories" of the Senatorial Library on Coruscant. Note: Mistress Agithinia Organa was killed during the destruction of Alderaan, 0 BBY.**

* * *

 

Zacar Girard didn't die well. Some people would laugh at the thought a person could die _well_. But Kastiel knew just how mean and hard death really could be, realized it as she fought to breathe, lying there underneath her own mother's mangled corpse. Dying could be a cruel, messy affair; it could be terrible; it could hurt beyond measure; it could be frightening, horrible. And there wasn't always a troop of brave Mandoes nearby willing to save your ass, either.

As she knelt down next to the broken body of Duke Zacar Girard, Kastiel knew that dying, for him, had been everything bad.

He had tried fighting it. His fingernails were broken and chipped, probably made as he flailed against his assailant. But he was weakened beforehand. The smell of that particular poison was familiar to Kas after the weeks she spent on Alderaan; since the nobles seemed so much keen on un-nobly killing each other. Hells, she had taken up the habit of carrying stims doctored with the antidote in her medical pouch every day, in fact.

Braden was the one who taught Kastiel about poisons. " _Loads of hunters use 'em, Kas. They're not always for killing, mind you. Quite a few prove effective in incapacitating a target, rather. They hold 'em in place, keep them from fighting you. If your target is exceptionally tough, hard to beat, or if your buyer wants them living and unbroken – you consider darting 'em. Become familiar with the most common ones, the ones for killing, yea, but also the ones you use for sleepin' them._ "

Frowning, Kastiel considered the chance the Rists had acted on their own, without regard for Kastiel's own motions. But the Rists weren't known for making bad business moves, and hiring a hunter only to do the job yourself – well, it was just bad business. Besides … Kas noticed a vial crashed to pieces there under the Baron's desk nearby.

No, the Baron anticipated this attempt on his life, knew the killer well enough he expected a poisoning attempt. He prepared his own antidote well in advance, and then used it. Probably as soon as he ingested the toxin. So the poison wouldn't have proved fatal. Only painful. What killed him, rather, was the boot the murderer had placed right over his throat; most likely as he lay gasping on the floor.

Zacar had gurgled his final breaths through blood that pooled in his throat around a broken, shattered trachea, staring up at his killer the entire while. He had not been allowed to die well. Too bad, really. Zacar really was the best of the lot, when it came to these Girards. Which wasn't saying much, really.

"I am the new Baron, uncle! It's my birthright!" Raffid was glaring at his uncle, his fists firmly clenched. Kastiel glanced up, shaking her head disgustedly as the sight of the three parasitic wastrels arguing over spoils before their dead was even cold. She was in an excellent position, though, to consider their feet, and she did, eyeing the footwear each one of the Girards were wearing.

Tobie always told her you could track a killer by the signs of violence he – or she, to be fair - left behind: " _Bruises take on the shape of the implement used to make them, in fact. Look here, see this scrape on the dead man's back? He tumbled backwards obviously, falling against a rough surface. And there it is, see? A bruise just under the clavicle on the front of his chest. Someone hit him, probably with a shovel, causing him to fall backwards_."

Aitalla's slippers easily exonerated her. The woman was a bitch and then some, but she hadn't killed Zacar. Nor had Raffid, surprisingly enough. His boot had a smooth tread, rather. That, and his foot was too small. He had rather dainty feet, in fact. Probably soaked the things in some kind of milk bath to keep them soft, even. Pathetic. And poor nerf cows, too.

But Heitor? Zacar's brother was wearing boots that had a thick, heavy sole, marked with striated edges that had left a singularly distinct bruise against the dead man's throat. She'd bet real money she'd find scratches on his ankles if she tugged up the hem of his pants, too.

Kastiel sighed as she pondered what it must have been like for Zacar, lying there and looking up at his own brother as he fought for his life. Definitely a bad way to die, she decided. Not that she was truly sorry the man was dead, either. Gault had hauled Corwin's corpse away from the Organa estate earlier. But she was still bothered at the lengths the Girards had gone to, out of nothing more than the pettiest arrogance and envy. All of them together robbed Corwin of a decent death, too. Kastiel would've at least met him face to face and given him a chance to fight.

Kas shook her head, her lips pressed. She had grown up on a world where betrayal and killing were commonplace, so you just didn't bat an eyelash to hear someone killed their lover or betrayed their best friend. But this? Alderaan roiled with the same cesspool of violence and betrayal, then declared itself oh-so-virtuous. The dishonesty of it all disgusted her.

"You can’t be allowed to take the title of Baron when you yourself killed your father, Raffid! Why, the idea is actually outrageous!" Heitor was literally chuckling. Kastiel thought his humor not only misplaced but really creepy, too. She eased herself back to her feet, crossing her arms across her chest as she continued to regard the awful trio.

"What? I didn't kill him! I wager you did the deed!" Raffid was almost bouncing from agitation. His sister placed her hand gently against his elbow, though, striving to calm the young man.

"Both of you, stop. The fact remains this hunter, here, was named Advocate. _She_ is the only one in a position worthy of determining the best successor. The best courts, in fact, will act as she decides, I wager it." Aitalla turned to Kastiel, doing a damn good job of looking sweet and pretty. Her dress was a pink concoction of expensive fabric, shot through with true gold threads that made her dark brown hair cascading against her back seem even darker. Kastiel wondered if the woman fixed her fucking face paint before rushing to the room where her father was lying dead and murdered on the floor. Aitalla simpered at her now, "I hope you'll take into account my own suit, Advocate. I seek a place of my own, free of the controls some man would place on me. For your trouble I'll compensate you, assuredly."

"Oh, no, Aitalla. You can not possibly grant the hunter as much compensation as I can." Heitor leaned closer, until Kastiel could almost smell his nasty breath. She stared hard at the murderer, refraining at the last moment from giving him a sneer. Heitor crooned beseechingly, "I've set aside a tidy bundle over the years, hunter, trust me. You'll be quite pleased at the wealth I can provide you."

"But neither of them is willing to offer you what I can, sweet lady. Name me heir and I will _marry_ you! You'll walk from here with all the wealth that comes from being a Duchess! Think of it, dear one!" Raffid's eyes gleamed darkly as he considered getting everything he'd ever wanted in one simple, easy swoop – title, wealth, position, and a most delectable bit of female flesh he could use as much and as often as he wanted. Well until he finally tired of it, at least.

But Kastiel just stared back at him with wide, stunned eyes. Then her nose crinkled with real disgust. Raffid was surprised, and he lifted one of his hands as if to touch her. Except Kas leaned back from his reach only subtly.

Kastiel could hear Gault's soft chuckle from behind her. She almost turned around to glare at him. But she only sighed, rather. Then she slowly rolled her shoulders to loosen her arms. She knew the Devaronian would note the motion for the warning it was intended to be. She sensed him shifting, stepping back carefully and closer to the door and the cover of the Duke's desk, both. Heitor frowned in his direction.

Kastiel sneered at them, "You're some of the most worthless people I've ever been forced to deal with. Except someone hated you so much to pay a fucking fortune to get you dead. Shit, the headaches you’ve caused me make killing you worth it." Kastiel suddenly yanked one of her blasters loose, raising the pistol up shoulder level. She fired.

The blaster bolt caught Heitor straight and even right in the middle of his forehead. Kas watched the blood blossom against his face like it was a flower blooming; until it slid down in a thick, oozing stream over the bridge of his nose into his open, gaping mouth. He fell backwards like a stiff log, thudding onto the expensive carpet right alongside his brother’s corpse. Purely fitting, Kastiel thought.

Aitalla shrieked a panicked sound. She at least tried turning to run. But she ran headlong into Gault's waiting arms. The Devaronian grunted at the impact, almost naturally pushing the panicked woman back into the line of Kastiel's sight. Kastiel shot her almost as smoothly as she did Heitor, so that the bolt caught her in back against her lower spine. She whined as she fell.

Raffid proved to be smarter than his sister, as he avoided Gault’s reach at the door. But he only managed to run in pathetic circles around the back curve of the room, where there was no window or door for him to make a real escape. He flailed his arms in wide circles, crying piteously from terror and fear. Kastiel's shot caught him in the neck, with force enough the front of his throat almost exploded. The sound of his wailing stopped abruptly. Blessed quiet, Kas thought.

Aitalla gurgled from her prone position on the floor, crying real tears, "Why? Why would you do this?" The woman begged for answers, sniffling as her hands slid through the blood pooling under own body.

Kastiel shook her head, that the woman was still just that dense, "Oh, come on. Seriously? You must have realized there were only so many people you lot could screw over, before someone finally hired help enough to destroy you.” Kas leaned over the dying woman, raising her pistol one more time, “To me, this is a job. To you? It's just deserved."

Aitalla gasped out, "Please!" But Kastiel only shrugged before she fired again. She watched coolly as Aitalla finally stopped moving. Didn't even mess up the silly hag's face paint, she noted. Gault stepped up beside her and glanced around.

"Hey, you kept them all on the same rug, although it's a shame such a magnificent piece was ruined with all that blood. You know, we could do some fast work, fudge the Duke's will a bit. Walk out of here with claim to everything!" Gault reached down to smooth Aitalla's dress back down from where it had ridden up along her legs. No need to embarrass the woman, after all.

"Can you really do that?"

"Of course! Forgery is an art and I am an artiste!" Gault almost crowed. Quietly though, since the doors to the officer stayed shut tight and solid. Even with blaster bolts flying, mind you. The guards must be used to it. Didn't speak well of the former owners, Gault decided.

"Perfect. Gault, this is what I need you to record on those papers …"

* * *

 

"What? No! He can't be dead! He promised to join me here … he loved me!" The legal representative sniffed as he watched the young woman dissolve into tears, clutching at her burgeoning belly. He supposed he could tell her the truth of young Raffid's … indiscretions while at Thul Palace. But, really. Why destroy such pretty illusions, he thought. At least someone would remember the man with a certain degree of fondness.

"Of course he did, my lady. But you really must sign all the requisite paperwork, to finalize the formalities.” He pushed the papers across the table towards the weeping female, motioning towards the accompanying droid to witness the process. The whirring sound as it complied and began to holorecord the exchange blanketed the room, "Your name, please. For the record."

The maid shuddered as she tried regaining control. But her gaze remained wet as she blinked blurrily down at the papers the representative proffered, "My name? Oh. Yes, of course. I'm Merika Antilles. Only distantly related to the noble house, however. I'm sorry."

He waved one hand, unconcerned and business-like, "Please. No need to be concerned over my own feelings. Your grief is difficult enough, I'm certain. Now. Your unborn child is, in fact, the child described in the papers left behind by the late Duke Zacar Girard, correct? His grandchild, from his son, Raffid?"

"Yes. We were planning to wed. Raffid sent me here to wait for him. That was … several months ago, of course. I'm sure he was on the way. Please … how did he die?" Merika's eyes filled with still more tears. He sighed as he watched her, absolutely certain that little wretch, Raffid, never intended to lay even a small claim to this woman's unborn child. At least his father had been keen to the vagaries of life, enough to provide for such terrible eventualities.

"You will not be benefited by such knowledge, my lady. Suffice to say, he died violently during the assassination of House Girard. But it was quick! I am sure he didn't suffer needlessly." He sighed, looking away from her as she burst into tears again. He only waited patiently until Merika's tears slowed into brief and tired sniffles again.

"Tell me, my lady. Have the healers been able to ascertain the gender of your unborn child yet?"

"Yes. I'm to have a son."

"I see. I am certain you've chosen a name for the boy. Please record it appropriately."

"Of course. His name will be Raymus. For my father. An old family name."

"Indeed. Raymus Antilles, then. He'll inherit all wealth and holdings once belonging to the late Duke Zacar Girard, as described in the papers the Duke kept in his office. I am sorry but the title of Duke is withheld, as the child was never legitimized. The House of Girard has ended."

Merika gazed out the window overlooking the gardens nearby the estate, biting her lip in a concerted effort to maintain her fledgling control over her emotions. She rubbed against her belly softly, murmuring, "See, poppet? Your father _did_ love you. Isn't that wonderful?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name, Raymus Antilles, belonged to a character from the Star Wars movies. I thought it would be interesting to give it, here, to a supposed and maybe long distant ancestor of his, as well.
> 
> The character, Raymus Antilles, appeared twice in the Star Wars movies. He's the captain of the Alderaanian ship, Tantive IV, who is given charge of C-3PO and R2-D2 by Bail Organna. He is ordered to wipe C-3PO's memory during the closing scenes of "Revenge of the Sith". In the years that followed, Antilles continued to captain the Tantive IV, although he actively participated in several audacious activities for the Rebellion Alliance. He once attacked a fleet of Imperial starships that were transporting rebel prisoners, freeing the rebels and saving their lives.
> 
> He's seen a final time in the opening scenes of "A New Hope". The Tantive IV is the ship transporting Princess Leia with her stolen Imperial plans, but they're boarded over Tatooine by Darth Vader. Raymus Antilles is captured and taken to Vader. But he bravely refuses to give up the secrets to the location of either Princess Leia or the plans. Vader chokes him to death, then flings his body into a nearby wall out of anger.
> 
> His last words include, "We intercepted no transmissions ... this is a consular ship ... we're on a diplomatic mission ..."


	46. Aay'han

Kastiel leaned her head back to rest against the wall of the mess, trying hard to ignore Gault's rambling complaints. Definitely a losing battle – even though Kas tried enduring it, really tried. Hells, she shoveled bits of leefy salad into her mouth so she wouldn’t be tempted to snap at him with something bitterly caustic, thinking he might get the hint if she ignored him long enough. But nooooo. Gault went on, and on, and on.

He complained about the food – "Too spicy! Gods, what do you put in this stuff?"

He complained about the seats – "You need to pick up some real cushions, even that damned Two of yours says so every chance it gets! By the way, does the droid _ever_ shut up?"

He complained about the décor _again_ – "What is it with these yellow lights you have everywhere? Makes everything look murky. Sickly, even. Not good for the complexion, I'm telling you."

But the crowning glory of his complaining drone came when he whined about the fucking shape of the table where they were sitting – "It's too square. Tables should be round or spherical, if you ask me. Makes it easier to reach for the things you're trying to eat."

Kastiel opened her mouth, prepared to finally tell Gault where to stick his last fucking grumbling moan once and for all. But Mako moved even faster. No sound, not a single word. Shit, the girl didn’t even grunt. She just picked up the last bit of her nerfsteak sandwich and flung it across the table at Gault.

The open-ended bit of bread plopped fast against the Devaronian's face and stuck there. There was a delicious squishing sound when the sauce splattered up to smartly sting his eyes, even. Gault yelped aloud, "Hey! What the hells …!” Gault jumped up and stood there in front of the table, stiff as a board. He glared down at them both. As if Kastiel had done anything, mind you.

But there was a bit of red nebula onion just clinging to his left cheek the entire while, stuck there by the thick sauce from the sandwich. Kastiel bit her lip hard enough that blood etched the tip of her tongue.

Mako blinked back up at Gault. She looked about as innocent as a newborn baby Rancor would, all hungry for one last bit of insult. Her voice was even sweet as she sent it winging at the Devaronian about as fast as she threw the last chunk of her sandwich, "Oh, sorry about that Gault. I was aiming for your mouth. I figured if something went into it, you'd finally shut the hell up."

Kastiel lost it. She bent over the edge of the table, laughing so hard that the acid-beets she was holding up with a fork plunked back down onto her salad plate. At least she didn’t lost any of her own food. She was more interested in eating it, than throwing it around. Acid-beet salad was one of her favorite dishes, anyway. And it would probably blend in with Gault’s natural color anyway. The artistic flair just wouldn’t be as dramatic as the onions he was wearing.

That, and Two’s cleaning program was finally updated properly. They really could eat off the floor at this point. The droid was already scrambling to clean up the bits of bread and nerfsteak on the floor, as it swept along with some sort of brush over the floor. Kastiel pointed at Gault, "Hey, that onion would fit snuggly around your last horn, Gault! Might bring out the color in your complexion!"

"You are so not helping, here, Kas," Gault glanced towards Two. He swiped the onion off his face and held it out towards the droid.

Kastiel cocked her head sideways, her eyebrows quirked up with amusement, "Damn, was I supposed to help you out? Why didn’t anyone tell me that?"

"I hate you both!" Gault spun on his heels, marching determinedly away from them as he manfully ignored the gales of laughter that followed him. Kas yelled at his back, listening to the pattering sound of his footfalls against the metal stairwell leading down to the lower deck, "Lies, Gault! I know you by now! And you adore me!" She laughed again when she caught his muted grumbles echoing back up the stairwell.

Mako only smiled softly as she finished her sweetwater, draining the glass before rising to return her dishware to the nearby storage space. She leaned against the edge of counter and looked over towards Kastiel, the cybernetics lining her eyebrow rising over her dark, narrow-eyed gaze, "Is it another headache? You always get quiet and antsy when you have a headache, Kas."

Kastiel grunted amusedly, "Seems I’m not the only one getting know the team real well. But it’s just stress, Mako. We really do need a vacation, huh?"

"Hey, I can help make adjustments to your implants, some tweaks of the programming perhaps. Tobie sent me new schematics he was hoping you'd make use of. Would have said something earlier but you were off chasing down Corwin." Mako was settling into her role, acting as Kastiel’s lead in navigating information, directions and insights during each one of her hunts. She only refused to say the words, that Braden was right.

"Not right now. It always takes me a while to adjust to the differences, and we’re going to have to be ready for the next challenge. Crista should be in contact with us soon enough, at least.” Kastiel sighed, “We just can't take the chance, Mako. I'll have to deal with it, is all."

"At least take a stim, get some damned real sleep,” Mako sniffed. “We’re just as screwed if your head’s hurting too bad when we finally get to take on Tarro Blood.”

Kastiel shrugged and leaned further over the table as she finished her meal. Mako settled down next to her on the padded bench, turning to face the holoterminal where another Huttball match was displayed. The seating was comfortable enough, at least. Even if Gault complained every chance he got over the cushions and upholstery that finished the seating in the mess. Kas had already made sure the chairs and benches were lined with thick, leathered pads straight from the finest vendors. So what if they weren’t colorful enough, she snorted.

Mako cheered lightly when the Rotworms managed another scoring run, giggling, “Corso is so going to choke. He was certain his Frogdogs were going to take this match. Hah!” Kastiel grunted. She still wasn’t certain how to judge the interactions between Corso and her little cyborg friend. But she thought it was more a standard confusion over relationships in general. Basically, what the hell would she know? Men waving blasters at them made sense. But men in courtship-mode were plain baffling.

Take Corso. He hates the Empire, and anything associated with it. The simplest politics imaginable; it was Imperial support for the Separatists on Ord Mantell that ended with his family dead and broken apart, anyway. But none of that matters when it comes to Mako, not for him. He just shrugged at her, “Not real happy they’re paying your bills. But I figure not everyone can work for a scamp of a freighter captain like I do.” What did Mako do, that convinced him to overlook so much?

Kastiel slowly chewed one of the beets in her salad as she thought, then swallowed. She cleared her throat, "Mako?"

"Hmmm? Hells, did you see that player _jump_? He had to have some kind of force ability to pull that off,” Mako hooted at the holoterminal. Kastiel glanced towards the holo, blinking owlishly. Huttball was almost as confusing as romance, she thought. Almost. Kastiel licked her lip nervously, "Mako, how'd you … um. Shit. I mean, how'd you convince Corso you were … I don't know. How did you let him know you … hells."

Mako spun around suddenly, gawking at Kastiel with far more interest than she ever had Huttball. Kastiel squirmed like she was a bug pinned down under a scope. Mako blustered at her, "What? Seriously? I mean … Who? No, wait! I know! This is about that Mando, right? Crap, what was his name again?"

Kastiel sighed and looked away, her pale skin flushing hot enough she was certain her skin would melt straight off her skeleton. She muttered, "Torian. Gods, never mind."

"No way! You noticed him so long ago, months! I really thought you forgot him by now. I can’t believe you’re _that_ interested,” Mako frowned suddenly, leaning closer. Her eyes were brightly curious, “This isn’t about how cute his ass is, is it?”

Kastiel’s nose flared, “You checked out his ass, Mako?”

“Hey, I saw it. That’s all.” Mako shook her head, “How can you be brave enough to take down the toughest trash in the galaxy but the thought of asking one Mando warrior for his attention terrifies you to pieces?"

Kastiel glared at her, blushing again, "Because I know how to take down the toughest trash in the galaxy!"

"Oh. Yea, I guess it's not like holding a blaster, huh? You’ve got to know how to pull the trigger, too.” Mako giggled when Kastiel’s glaring expression narrowed even more, “Come on! That's funny, and you know it!" Mako’s implants glinted in the overhead lighting.

Kas shrugged, her eyes clouding with blushing resignation, "Forget I asked."

"No! Shit, Kas -- I'm sorry. Serious-like, I swear. Look … Crista says the Mandoes have been angling just to look at you; and not cause of your damned blasters, either. You just have to look back at them, at least. We’ll … Wait," Mako cocked her head sideways in the peculiar way Kastiel noted every time some signal from the holonet came through her implants. "There's a holo incoming. Unfamiliar source. Trouble, maybe."

Kastiel glanced towards the terminal. The Huttball game was paused in lieu of the warning light describing an incoming transmission, and Kas scowled. She rose to her feet and stepped closer to the terminal, gesturing to activate the console. Kastiel crossed her arms over her chest, easily smoothing her features into the hard-edged demeanor she normally provided outsiders. She never realized how like a Mandalorian she looked to Hedarr Soongh when he was finally able to see her, there.

* * *

 

_We call it_ aay'han _. I've heard stories of peoples who whisper words to their gods, call upon them for aid, even. Perhaps it's like that. I don't know._ Aay'han _, for those of the Mando'ad, is a perfect moment; one of memory, joy, and sorrow. It is a moment of the day we mourn, because in the mourning, our loved ones are remembered, and they live on._

She killed Sedyn Kyne, right there on Nar Shaddaa. Kastiel knew she never wanted to die on Nar Shaddaa. The lights from the casinos and the cantinas and the shops shined ghoulishly upon the scene, and the sounds of loud, raucous laughter filtering down from the distant casinos grated against the senses. Mostly because it was all so disparate, just confusing – as if huge crowds celebrated the dying breaths Sedyn Kyne made into the foul-smelling air.

At least Sedyn’s friends pressed close to him as he gasped out through his blooded teeth. They glared at Kastiel from over his bent head, their armor plates clanking as they shuffled over the dirty floor on large, rough boots. Kastiel didn’t care, though. She only breathed harshly, and ignored the droplets of sweat that etched the pale skin along the smooth side of her face. She watched Sedyn die, is all.

Tarro Blood called Sedyn a friend. Maybe that's what he called himself, too. So maybe it was for friendship that he acted, even. Or maybe it was that he called himself a Mandalorian. It could be he thought it was a matter of Mandalorian honor, that Tarro Blood become the Champion of the Hunt.

To Kastiel, though, Sedyn's motivations were just so much shit. Because he was nothing more than the bastard who shot her friend in the face. Who laughed and mocked when Braden died.

That made him nothing but a tool, then. You don't blame the tool for the damage done, not really. She believed that much. So it’s not that Sedyn offended Kastiel’s sense of justice. She wouldn’t blame Tarro’s blaster or his blade, either. No, it was Tarro Blood who deserved justice’s recrimination. Not Sedyn Kyne. Even if he _was_ a turd.

But Sedyn called himself a Mandalorian. Kas thought he acted contrary to everything she believed Mandalorians should be; she had seen them act, seen them fight. Hedarr Soongh stood there next to her through the long hours, too. He told her – told her about Mandalorian customs, their state of mind in battle, and their traditions. Soongh seemed content to teach her; and Kastiel soaked in every single one of his words. She heard him, she knew she would remember it.

It was a gift she soaked in during the long hours they waited there for Sedyn Kyne to appear.

_Life is a thing to celebrate. We are family, we are clan. We treat each moment shared with great joy. We sing, we dance. We love our partners, our brothers, our friends. We love our wives, our husbands. We love our children. We do not despair, we do not surrender, we do not give up. That is not our way._

She thought of all she knew about Mandalorians.

Kastiel remembered everything. She remembered the suffocating darkness, as she lay there while her mother’s blood spilled down onto her own small body, washed over her face and neck. It choked her. She remembered laying there, hurting and dying from the hurt. Because she wasn’t strong enough and she lost them; she lost her mother, lost her little brother and her own sister, lost them all. The pain filled her until it was almost too much and she couldn’t breathe, not through the blood at least. She choked, gasping; as her face burned red hot and her world fell dead silent.

Then the heaviness was lifted away and she could breathe again. Looking down at her was a hard cold face, just a helmet so she couldn’t see the woman’s eyes. She didn’t know and so she fought hard all over again. She fought to live, to breathe. She panted, gasped and choked some more, unable and confused when no sounds broke through the way the light did, and hitting them over and over. But the warriors just picked her up; they held her close and warm, their voices rumbling against her sharply burning face. Torian’s young face hovered over her constantly, his eyes shining down at her so brown and heady. He washed the blood off her, off her face and held his hand there so it didn’t hurt so much.

He was strong enough, and she wanted to live again just watching him. He made her glad the dark didn’t steal her away, that’s what he showed her. That’s what he gave her. And she loved him for it.

They saved her -- those Mandalorians saved her. To her, _that_ was what Mandalorians did, that's what they were. They were strong and certain and no one ever fucked with them. They didn’t back down, they didn’t give up. No matter how dark it was, no matter how scared you became. They only kept on fighting, so the fight made them even more, even stronger.

Sedyn Kyne was nothing like that. He was a dog. Just a damn yipping lapdog. He jumped when someone else told him to, and he only stopped long enough to ask how high to go.

_That_ was why she killed him. She killed him because he lacked something intrinsic, that Mandalorians were supposed to bear, to hold true to. Hedarr said it was honor Sedyn had given up, if he'd ever had it. But Kastiel didn't really understand Mandalorian honor. She only understood what it was to fail at being what you were supposed to be. She recognized that when she saw it.

So she met Sedyn head-on. Kastiel placed her boot so much simply against his thigh, using it as a springboard to leap over him and land solidly onto the tiled ground behind him. Sedyn growled as he spun his head to find her. But Kas was already moving; she kicked him hard right against his backside with force enough that he stumbled roughly forward to fall down onto his knees. Then she knocked him over to lie prone on his belly, jamming her knee into the soft area of his lower spine where his armor didn't reach. Sedyn cried out in desperate pain.

Kas leaned close enough to whisper into his ear, "You’re off balance. You always were." Then she sent a blaster bolt to blaze its way through his thick skull, a simple, rather neat sort of death.

And that's when the other warriors who came with Sedyn began yelling at her; they yelled bitter castigations and ugly words. Hedarr shouted back at them, demanding their actions be honorable ones. But they turned on him. They showed who’s champions they really were just then; showed they were Tarro’s champions. Not the _mando’ad’s_.

Hedarr Soongh told them, "You are not Mandalorians." Then they fired.

_We do not bury our dead, hunter. It's not that we don't respect nor honor them. It's merely a matter of practicality. The dead do not travel with the_ Mando'ad _, except in memory. A grave would only be left behind, a body lost and forgotten when the_ aliit _moved on. It's better to burn them, to scatter their ashes to the wind and the skies of whatever world that saw them fall. We only keep their armor. And sometimes just a piece of it. We do not forget._

Kastiel settled herself onto her knees next to Hedarr's dying frame. She smoothed her hand across the wounds on his chest as she listened to him make long, wheezing breaths. Hedarr glanced past her, his dark, dark almond-shaped eyes dull with disappointment as he regarded the dead warriors who had killed him. They were men he fought with and alongside, defended and guided, too. Men he loved as he would love his brothers and sons. But they betrayed the honor he cherished to strike him down and they tried to destroy Kastiel, too.

They lost the fight to Kastiel, though. Even if they had taken his life. It was enough, he supposed. Then he looked up at her, and he saw his death mirrored in her brown eyes. He grunted, "They … let me down. _Dar'manda_."

Kastiel frowned down at him, confused, "Don't know what that means."

"Soul-less, ignorant of their heritage,” Hedaar gasped some more breaths. “Not … Mandalorian. Not of the _Manda_! I die better than they did."

Kastiel reached out, gripped his hand. She heard Mako sighing a mournful sound behind her, knew that her little friend was so tired of watching friends die. But Kastiel only assured Hedarr closer to the ending, "You died with your honor intact. I saw."

He nodded, closing his eyes. "My armor ruined, hmm? Take my helm. You … only one I've taught who deserves to bear it. Even if the teaching was … only today. You listened, you heard."

"I'll take it."

"Don't forget. Goodbye, hunter."

* * *

 

_"I'm looking for the doctor, girlie. He around here somewhere?"_

_Kas shook her head. "He was called over to that mess of a work site, where they're building that stupid statue. Some of the slaves got sick, not surprising for Dromund Kaas."_

_"Shit. I mean, dammit. Well, hell!" The bounty hunter glared at her, his bald head gleaming with sweat and specks of blood where he'd wiped against his brow. He held one strong fist pressed hard against the side of his stomach, but she could still see the blood pumping around his clenched fingers. "My language isn't exactly right for youngsters."_

_She snorted at him. "Have you seen this neighborhood? We’re mostly slaves and broken people no good for the military around here. Your language is pretty tame. I mean, come on. What the fuck happened to your stomach?" She pointed to the bloody wound he was grimacing over._

_"I … need a doctor, kid."_

_Kas crossed her arms across her chest, looking skyward as if for patience, "I told you, Tobie’s not here. Now. If you stop calling me kid, I'll take a look at your stomach. What do you say?"_

_"Oh? And how old are you, kid?"_

_"Twelve. Tobies Moor's been raising me, right here in this clinic, ever since I was itty bitty. And I ask a lot of questions, believe me. If that's a blaster-made wound, I have a good chance of fixing it. Up to you, though."_

_"How old is itty bitty supposed to be?"_

_"Gonna bleed to death before you let me look at it?"_

_The bounty hunter laughed at her sheer temerity, "You have real gumption, girlie. I like ya." He eased himself up onto a nearby medical table, scowling as his side twisted in the moving. He slowly took his fist away from his side and watched Kas move closer, pulling a tray with various medical tools along with her. He kept watching her, too, even as she worked fast to unbuckle his chestplate and cut the edges of his torn shirt away from the wound._

_"Fuck, that hurts!"_

_Kas continued probing against the hole in the bounty hunter's stomach. The edges had been cauterized by the heat of the bolt, but the hunter's movement since the initial wounding had caused it to bleed steadily in the hours that followed. He was going to pass out very soon, she thought. It was imperative she get him settled before that happened, because there really was little chance she could move him very far after he became dead weight._

_And based on the wound she was looking at, this bounty hunter wasn't keen on being found by any Imperial troops at the moment. It was a soldier's weapon that made the hole she was examining._

_"Well, stop squirming around. Here. Pain relief. Then shut up." The hunter's features smoothed out as the medicine dispersed through the stim Kastiel applied to his side. He blinked at her, his eyes glassy and unfocused. She heard him murmur something low, more like a rumble of indiscriminate soun as his head drooped down. She finished her treatment quickly, spreading salve along the wound before fusing the edges together into a neat, tidy line with a cauterizing wand. Wouldn't even scar, she thought proudly. "Okay, come on. Move towards the rear of the clinic, now. There's another room back there, easier to hide the entry way if need be."_

_"And why would ya think I need hiding, girl?"_

_"Well, at least you're not calling me kid anymore. Even though you're still acting like I'm stupid or something. Hide. Now."_

_He shook his head, stopping to lean against the doorway into the room Kastiel was guiding him towards. He turned his head sideways, trying to appear stern and foreboding, "Don't be thinking you can get one over on me."_

_She sighed with some small degree of disgust. "Seriously? Hunter, if I'd been angling to get one over on you, I could've done so easily. With a stim. Just now. Hell, you're half out of it even now. Want to see if I can knock you over, too?"_

_He eyed her like she was half-mad, even as a grin inched its way across his tired features, "If you were male, I'd say you have balls."_

_"My being female doesn't make me a prissy little mouse, idiot."_

_He grinned at her again, just before stumbling inside of Tobie's hiding room. He settled himself onto the cot set against the back wall, groaning against the twinge of pain along his now healing wound. He draped an arm over his eyes, ignoring Kas as she checked the bandage she'd adhered to his side one more time. She set a droid in the room, then, directing it to provide water and foods as needed._

_The hunter grunted only when Kas made to leave the room, "Not a mouse, no. A tough little nut of a female, rather. You'll go places, girlie. I'd like to watch you at it. What're you called?"_

_"I'm Kas. Kastiel."_

_"Braden is my name. Come talk to me later on. It'll probably get boring as shit in here before long."_

_"I won't leave you here to rot, sheesh. You'll be sick of me before the end, I bet."_

_"No way. You're too interesting. G'bye fer now, Kas."_

Kastiel opened her eyes, blinking around her at the glow of the nighttime lights in her quarters. The quiet washed over her, the hum of the ship's engines soothing against the background. She murmured, lying there, feeling comfortable in the familiar confines. She remembered, she thought, and she whispered, " _Aay'han_." She drifted, near sleeping.

And then Gault yelled, the heavy tread of his stomping footfalls thudding through the entire ship as he jumped and chased the monkey-lizard, "Quinnie! You damn monster! This time, I really am going to shoot you! Fucker, you _ate_ my favorite boot! You realize how much that will hurt coming back out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aay'han is the mando'a word that describes a "perfect moment" where the Mandalorian remembers and mourns the dead. The closest interpretation of the word, actually, is "bittersweet". In Karen Traviss' "The Mandalorians: People and Culture", there's some description of aay'han as a nightly ritual, almost like a prayer, where the warrior pauses to remember. It's as much a ritual of joy, though, as it is grief, so I included some humorous moments, too, for my own soon-to-be Mando, here.
> 
> Dar'manda is a state of being soulless. It's a word given to those ignorant of their Mandalorian heritage and thus denied access to the Manda, or afterlife. Most Mandalorians regard it a terrible fate.


	47. Lost in the Dark

Torian frowned at the thing. The beast skittered towards the shadows at the back of the cave. It had four limbs, with the two in the front slightly longer than the ones at its rear end. Its head was large and bulbous, with a wide mouth lined with glittering rows of sharp teeth. Two horns perched at the top of its skull. It looked, in fact, like some sort of mutated Devaronian, like one of those people just turned wrong somehow.

It was the teeth they were hunting. One of the Sith at the Citadel in Kaas City nearby was paying them a virtual fortune for every single tooth they managed to pull from the mouths of the monsters that lurked in these wet, murk-ridden caves. The Sith was actually pretty enough; unusual for a Sith. They were often twisted and devastated by their over-use of _darjetii_ magics.

But the Sith woman who came to them was comely, with a shapely form that curved gorgeously into an example of simple feminine perfection. Her blonde tresses looked honey-bright in the dark shadows of Dromund Kaas. And she was actually nice! She even sent a friendly smile in their direction when she talked to the _Alor'ad_.

Jogo was so impressed with those flashing teeth of hers that he tried flirting with her, almost strutting there behind Fett as the woman offered up the challenge to them. Torian blatantly ignored Jogo’s boasts, though, like they were so much eddying humid air. Just mere noise basically, "Woman like that needs a real warrior. I can give her that.” Torian just watched the woman, though. Something about the Sith didn’t feel right; even beyond the appreciation she was _darjetii_. Every one of Torian’s instincts said to stay distant from the female, so that he was glad when she finally strolled away. He only watched her going, not because he cared how her hips swayed so seductively as she went. But to make sure she was really gone.

Fett returned to them then, kneeling down onto a knee as he began describing the hunt they were going to make. Jogo kept right on bragging, and now the rest of them jumped in to start the wagering. Every one of them was determined to seize the most of the teeth. Even Torian smiled lightly, “I'll take my share. Beat you all!" Jogo guffawed, as he always did.

But Vorten Fett was pleased by Torian's quiet assuredness, and he nodded at them: "We'll all take prizes today. The place she described is one I'm familiar with. I hunted there once before, among some of the ruined places.” Fett lifted his gaze, so they could see the gleam of the cybernetic processors in his broken eye, “The beasts there are large, and aggressive. And there are many. Best to take the jaws entirely. She says she needs the teeth intact, so don't go cracking at them to loose them beforehand."

"What would she need the teeth for?" Torian pondered the question aloud. But Jogo laughed.

"Maybe she's making a necklace from the things! She'll wear them around her neck when she attends one of those fancy gatherings of theirs, huh?"

Torian shook his head certainly, "No. She's _darjetii_ … Sith. They don’t rely on weapons like yours or mine, and they don’t restrain themselves the way Jedi do. Better if you don’t underestimate them."

"What is it, _aru'tal_? You're afraid?"

Fett held up one single hand, and shook his finger back and forth through the air, "Enough. Jogo! You go too far! Speak some more, and I'll let Torian show you the wisdom of his blades, too. His cunning’s already cut you, so choose smart for once."

Torian breathed in heavily when Jogo shot him a mean, dirty look and then settled back onto the heels of his thick boots, finally quiet. Jogo’s resentment seemed to grow stronger every day, and regardless of the many months they fought side by side. Now he tried provoking Torian to act brashly, stupidly even. Jogo said he would prove Torian was reckless and overconfident. But Dev mocked him for it, "He doesn't wear _your_ armor, Jogo. He isn't you."

It only made Torian more certain he needed to finish it, to regain his name's honor. He had waited long enough. Fett’s determination to move the warriors to Taris was the only thing that kept him from going right now, in fact. Only Corridan knew that Torian was going to hunt Jicoln on the broken world. His vod cheered him even, “ _Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur_. Only let me know if you need me to watch your six, and I’ll come.”

But not today. Today the hunt stayed on Dromund Kaas, looking for a witch's prize. Now Torian leaned forward and listened for the chattering of the beast's teeth. He held his breath, straining to use his limited senses in the dark. There! His staff whipped out and around, the ends lighting the entire cavern for a single, breathless moment -- long enough for his target to let out a frightened wail. Then the thunk of his weapon sounded against the thing's head, and blood, gristle and gore erupted from out of its cracked skull.

Torian knelt down next to the dead thing and quickly, adeptly removed its teeth from its wide-open jaw. Dev murmured from just behind him, " _Ori'jate_. _Copaani gaan_?"

" _Nayc_. Not with this. There may be more, though. _Hukaat'kama_."

"I will, Torian."

They kept their voices low and quiet. The dark encouraged it, if only so the warriors could better hear if something – anything – approached. When everything was so dark, hearing became even more precious a sense than any sight. So even Jogo kept carefully silent, his head canted as he listened for the clattering of claws against the stone or the clacking of jaws along bristling teeth.

But Torian sensed something else, something … bigger and far more dangerous. It was … a presence, as if the cave itself was alive, like they were walking into its very heart. The walls seemed to pulse and beat with the dark, terrible energy of the thing.

Torian wondered who was really the hunter there in that cave. Who was really the prey?

He grunted as he finished cutting loose the jaw of the creature he had killed and stuffed it smoothly into the pack on his back. Torian nodded towards the _Alor'ad_ then, saw Fett incline his chin in quiet reply before gesturing so the warriors could press ahead. They stepped carefully. Jogo grunted softly, "I took down even more of them, outside."

"Quiet, Jogo," Fett muttered. Torian hesitated, too. The press of the air in front of them seemed heavier, harder. It was like … _something_ was only just there, and Torian strained to see through the dark in front of them. Fett raised up his head, but the sound of the helmet-mounted sights on his visor whirring was dulled by the heavy, deep-throated growl that emerged from whatever monster stayed there in the dark ahead of them. Fett rasped, "Big fucker …"

And then the warrior just alongside Fett went down in a loud crashing thud, yelling out when something grabbed his armored leg and pulled him. The warrior clawed against the ground for purchase, his gloved fingers digging into the moist soil of the cave floor as blood spurted up from his lower half. He gurgled wetly from the pain. Dev yelped out as he leaped towards the fallen man, ignoring Fett’s warning cry, "No! Everyone back, back! Get out!"

Torian called out, "Dev!" He felt Fett grip his shoulder and pull him back. So that Torian wasn’t able to grab at Dev in time enough. He watched, saw Dev reach the fallen warrior and pull his arm. But they were both suddenly yanked away, hard, disappearing into the inky darkness. Torian clenched his jaw, pulling against Fett's hold as the sounds of terrible crunching filled the space.

Dev screamed out one time. And then suddenly, Dev flew back at them from out of the dark. Flew hard and smacked into the wall just in front of them, with force enough to leave a solid crack there in stone. Torian moaned, rushing forward to grab his friend's body. Fett yelled at him, " _Slana'pir_!"

Torian gripped Dev’s limp frame, slung him up and over his shoulder. Dev hung loosely against Torian’s back, like he was a hunted trophy and unmoving. He wasn’t making anymore sounds, not even a breath. Torian turned and rushed back towards Fett, who helped by grabbing Dev's other arm. Together, they pulled the wounded Mando between them, moving quickly towards the entrance of the cave.

Torian almost collapsed, then. Dev was a dead weight against him. But Dev loosed a moaning grunt suddenly, and Torian gasped out in relief. He lowered his friend down, watching Dev’s black eyes glittering with dull, terrible pain as he clutched his torn abdomen. Torian glanced down, grimacing when he saw the gaping wound and the twisted ropes of Dev’s intestines shining pinkly through Dev’s fingers there. Even the armor had been ripped away, leaving jagged edges of metal that dug into the ripped length of Dev's diaphragm above the wound.

Dev shuddered as his face turned even more pale, ghostly, " _Vor entye_ , Torian. You … _burcyan_ … for me. Best."

" _Mandokarla, burc'ya!_ " Torian felt his throat tighten. He wanted to scream, to cry out against his friend leaving him behind, marching away. Like his mother. Like Korwis.

But Dev only smiled up at him, " _Aliit ori'shya taldin_. _Ner vod_ … Torian."

Torian watched as Dev's eyes became vacant and blank. Torian blinked, sighing rather than crying out loud. He lowered his head, hanging his forehead down until his face rested over Dev’s armored shoulder. He dragged in one breath, two. But his chest felt heavy, so that it was so hard to breathe. Tears burned against his clenched eyes. Then he felt the press of hard hands against his back as the troop gathered around them, there.

It was Jogo who whispered as he knelt down next to them, though. He said, "We'll all carry him, Torian. He was _vod_. But you carry his helmet. He would've wanted you to have it."

* * *

 

"I need to see the body, mandalorian. Show me." The Sith's voice was sweet, friendly. Saccharine sweetness, artificial and false. As if she didn’t even notice the men's quiet and stoic grief. Fett frowned and stared back at her for several long moments.

"Why?"

"Are you truly questioning my need of this thing?"

"It is no 'thing' you ask after. He was a worthy warrior, rather. One of our own. He died well, battling to save the life of another. I'll not have him dishonored in death," Vorten Fett crossed his arms across his chest. He kept his face smooth and still though, not even glaring while he stayed so obstinately straight.

The Sith glanced past him at the blood-splattered armor of the warriors ringing the unmoving form of their friend. Her eyes gleamed brightly. Like she enjoyed the signs of their grief and mourning. But her words dripped with polite nicety, "Leave off, mandalorian. I don't anticipate any reason to – how did you put it? – _dishonor_ your dead. I wouldn’t dream of it, even! I only wish to examine his remains." She waved a single, pale hand, "Trust me. It will only take a moment."

Fett did glare at her then. They stood there for a long, hard instant, looking like nothing more than two stubborn bulls preparing to charge across a field at each other. But Fett ultimately nodded, "A moment, only. We have to prepare him for the burning."

Torian frowned, watching as the blonde-haired Sith glided towards his friend's body. She motioned towards the young woman following her and murmured something low he couldn't quite understand. The Sith's follower was the one who knelt down next to Dev's body, lifting the edges of the cloth they had used to cover him.

"I see one, master."

"Only one?"

"Yes. Lodged in one of his intestinal walls, master."

"Very well. We’ll have to make do," the Sith sighed. "Retrieve it for me."

Fett loomed next to the Sith, suddenly, "What is it?"

"Why, mandalorian. So close at hand, hmm? It's a tooth, of course. The beast bit him." She purred, probably meaning to sound sultry and seductive. To Torian, however, she sounded more like he imagined a bad bit of perfumed oil that was meant to hide something nasty might smell. A deception of the senses, basically.

Fett scowled at her roughly, "We have lots of teeth from those beasts."

"I imagine so. But this is the only one I want. It would've been better if I had more, of course. But alas. I must make do. I'll simply have to be extra careful as I conduct the ritual." She giggled, then. Torian looked away before his face might actually show how much disgust he was feeling right then.

Fett clenched his hands to keep from striking the Sith, "Take it. And leave."

"Of course. I'll send payment."

They all stood there watching as the Sith sauntered happily down the ramp, heading towards the nearby Citadel. Jogo huffed a heavy sigh in the direction of her back, "Torian was right. She’s nasty. What was she called, again?"

Fett muttered, "Darth Zash." He looked back at his men, then. They stood there, looking tired and very nearly stunned. He glanced down at Dev's broken form, "We say farewell to our dead tonight. _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_. Remember this day. Never trust a Sith, when they ask you to fight for them. Their purpose is often hidden and rarely worthy."

Torian nodded, reaching down to lift up Dev's body once again. They all looked when a warrior rushed out from the Enclave, shouting, "Vorten! Come! The Mandalore’s called for you." Fett frowned as he gestured towards his men.

"I have dead to see to. What's happened?"

"It's the Hunt! Tarro Blood was captured by the Jedi!"

Torian stared at the young warrior. He heard several gasps break from the warriors around him. Jogo panted, "No! He failed? But how?" Fett motioned them to quiet, looked at the warrior.

"What about the hunter from Hutta?"

"She's just arriving! The Mandalore has eyes into the place, tapped into their ship's computers. We can see and hear everything! It's how we know Tarro's been captured. He wants you to come, to witness the rest. Says it’s necessary all the mando’ad see this fight for themselves."

Torian grasped against Dev's cold shoulder, sighing in farewell. Then he faced forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Mando'a used in this chapter. Bear with me:
> 
> Alor'ad - captain, squad leader  
> Darjetii – Sith  
> Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur – phrase meaning “today is a good day for someone else to die.”  
> Ori'jate - phrase meaning "very good"  
> Copaani gaan - phrase meaning "need a hand?"  
> Nayc - no  
> Hukaat'kama - phrase meaning "watch my back"  
> Slana'pir - phrase meaning "get out!"  
> Vor entye - thank you (literally "I accept your debt")  
> burcyan - friendship, a close bond  
> Mandokarla - phrase meaning "you've got the right stuff"  
> burc'ya - my friend  
> Aliit ori'shya taldin - phrase meaning "family is more than blood" (common Mandalorian saying)  
> Ner vod - my brother / sister (Mandalorians don't specify gender in their language)  
> vod - brother / sister / comrade  
> Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la - phrase meaning "Not gone, merely marching far away (Mandalorian saying for the departed)


	48. Winning the Hunt

Kastiel stared through the viewscreen at the Republic cruiser. The ship hung there, like a solid kernel set against the star-strewn backdrop. Maybe if she peeled it back, she would manage to find a real seed or sprout. Like something that promised to grow into bounty. She wanted it.

Mako leaned over one of the bridge consoles intentfully, her fingers flying so fast they were a blur, "The Aurora's pinging messages fast, Kas. Apparently, they've captured what they're calling 'an assassin' intent on killing the Jedi Master Kellian Jarro. Huh. I really could laugh my ass off about Tarro's piss-poor day."

Gault looked over from the other seat, grinning, "Maybe they'll truss him up for us. Put an apple in his mouth. We could roast him over a fire!"

"Ewww, Gault. Just … ewww."

Kastiel smiled at them as the Bad Boy continued its steady glide towards the cruiser. It became big enough to fill the viewscreen wholly, and Kas bent her head to better watch it coming closer. She chuckled, "He would probably give you a sour stomach, Gault. I'd avoid chomping on the guy, if I were you."

The commlink suddenly crackled, the voice accented with Republic basic. " _Unidentified vessel, be warned, we're tracking your approach. This ship is currently defended by a master of the Jedi Order. You will not succeed in harming this ship or its crew. Turn back, or you will be placed under arrest and brought before a Republic tribunal for judgment._ "

Gault grumbled with amusement, "Someone should tell them how gods-damned stubborn you are, Kas."

"They wouldn't believe it," Kastiel sighed as she straightened again. She examined the buckles and straps holding her weapons against her hips, checked the fastenings on her armor one more time – and she reminded him, “The Republic always thinks they can convince you otherwise, trust me. One long litany of ‘come be our friend and all’s forgiven’ nerfshit.”

"They might buy it,” Gault drawled. “I mean, if you chase them across a planet-wide desert just before loosing a monkey-lizard on 'em. Heard _that_ tactic of persuasion works wonders." The Bad Boy suddenly lurched, hard enough that Kastiel actually stumbled forward against the back of Gault's chair. Mako cried out, "Tractor beam!"

"Hey, this is great. I was wondering how we were going to get on board," Kastiel grinned happily as she leaned over to look at the opening of the hangar they were being pulled into.

Gault whooped, "And we don't even have to park!"

But Mako shook her head, glowering out at the shimmering edge of the field dividing cold space from the hangar interior. "You're both insane. I always knew it," she mumbled sourly.

Kastiel rolled her head back and forth against her shoulders, breathing in and out. She checked her blasters again, slowly tapping her fingers against the handles. Then she smiled towards both her friends, "Insane or not, it's time to finish this."

* * *

 

The soldier actually reached out and grabbed at Gault’s rifle, gripping the barrel and yanking him off balance hard enough he stumbled forward against the man. Gault hissed near the fellow's ear, lashing out with his tongue to swipe across the sensitive area under his neck. The soldier yelled out, a fairly wild and panicked cry as he leaped backwards and slapped one beefy hand up along the side of his neck to swipe at the spittle Gault left there.

Gault chuckled slow and meanly, watching him. Kastiel yelled over at him. But she didn’t stop the fast work she was making to modify her jet pack as she kneeled down behind one of the engineering stations for cover. Kas called to him, "Dammit, Gault. I told you not to eat anyone! We're not here for dinner!"

The soldier's eyes went wide with terrible shock and dismay, convinced that the alien in front of him was set on actually and literally devouring him. Gault stopped himself from laughing out loud, but just barely. He quickly turned it into a wide, wicked grin instead. He extended his long, long tongue, mockingly shaking it back and forth so that he looked about as evil and malicious as he could. Then he shouted out, "Come on, Kas! This one looks ripe enough. That last guy you let me munch on was too damn skinny."

Kastiel looked over at them, as if carefully judging the muscled frame of the soldier Gault was confronting. She snorted, "Well. Maybe a leg."

Gault leaned forward, his mouth twisted meanly as he regarded the human, "Wonderful. Let's play, shall we?"

The man shuddered. His eyes were wide and very almost glistening. Gault wondered if he was going to cry. But he only moaned, "Fucking monsters, that's what you are. All of you!"

Gault laughed hard then, even as he glided backwards slightly and lined up his shot carefully. Superstitious humans and their myths – devils, demons, ghouls. They were so easily frightened, so simply threatened. And their fear kept them from reacting in time enough, kept them off balance and askew. Just long enough, he thought. So it was sheer perfection when his rifle finally shot up and the bolt flew fast and hard across the brief space separating them. The soldier wailed at the rough impact straight in the center of his breastplate, sounding almost like a female as he cried out.

The shot came from close enough the man's armor proved meaningless against the force of the shot. It sizzled through the metal, past his skin and sternum, before impacting solidly with his beating heart. The organ literally dissolved under the strength of the blow. Gault watched the man's eyes, saw them become suddenly dull, lifeless. He just fell over sideways, as if his legs were cut out from under him and useless.

Gault trotted towards Kastiel until he could kneel down alongside her. He eased his head up and over the console so he could see the chief engineer, perched high on a platform overlooking the engineering section. Apparently, the man was smart enough to blow the trailing ladders that would’ve allowed for access to the platform where he was perched; but he was all alone up there now, and panicked.

The engineer was frantically shouting into his commlink, and swearing loudly how much he needed soldiers to secure the machines in the room. The fucker was just too late, Gault thought. He could see that Mako was leaning over another console on the far back of the room, tapping furiously fast against the buttons there.

Oh yea, the Aurora was screwed.

Alarms began sounding in the place, and the entire space took on a dull red sheen as the lights dimmed into emergency illumination. The engineer shouted out above the cacophony, screaming into the comms at someone on the bridge, above: "Dammit, what happened to our reinforcements? Get them down here, now, or the entire ship is gonna be blown to pieces! They're activating the self-destruct … What, do you think they're going to just sit here on their asses in the engineering section? They'll head for the bridge next, you idiot! … Oh, who gives a rat's ass? I'll be dead before you fools figure out what the hell to do."

Kastiel shot Gault a toothy grin, "Gotta love Republic efficiency, huh?" Gault laughed at her, thinking for a sudden moment how much like Zale she really was. Independent, focused, fun-loving – he really was glad she sicced that damn monkey-lizard on him. Wait, scratch that. Not glad for the monkey-lizard. No friggin' way! But he definitely didn't mind anymore that she'd shot him in the ass. The scar was worth it. And even brag-worthy!

Kas made one final adjustment on her jetpack, grunting as Mako tumbled into cover with them, smiling. "Got it, Kas! Once we hit the controls on the bridge this ship is toast! Did what you asked, too, and broadcast the self-destruct warning. Anyone who wants to can make for the escape pods or shuttles."

Gault smirked, "Yea, hope they don't plan on getting onto the Bad Boy. I rigged the airlock entry with an electronic discharge. Complete with monkey-lizard back-up, too."

"Just make sure we don't end up getting bit by a monkey-lizard when it's time to hightail it out of here, Gault," Kastiel shrugged.

"There is no way that little rat will bite you, Kas. Me? Maybe, and just for fun. But I think he has a peculiar affinity for your butt. Totally understandable, mind you – you have one of the nicest female bums I’ve ever laid eyes on."

Mako smacked him with the flat of her palm sharply on the back curve of his head, so that he yelped out, “Hey!”  She shook her head then, "How you made it past adolescence is beyond me."

"What? Why am I getting smacked around for stating the purely obvious? It's a nice butt! And please. Don't remind me of my adolescence. You have no idea what it's like being a teenager on Devaron."

That's when the engineer finally started shouting down at them. Kastiel looked up towards the platform where the guy was standing, his feet spread apart as he gesticulated angrily towards her. She gauged the distance between them shrewdly, barely listening to him as he threatened her, "You might as well make for your ship, just break for it. There's no way you can get up here. And I won't open the doors for you to go any further."

Kastiel turned so that she faced the platform, even as she remained kneeling behind the console while she yelled at the man, "Do you know what it takes to succeed at a hunt? The proper tools." Kastiel smacked her jetpack controls so that she leaped suddenly and high through the air. Gault pushed Mako against the floor as Kas' pack fired. Kastiel bounded out from behind the console towards the platform above. She actually sailed right into the engineer's face, hitting him hard enough she easily broke his nose with the top of her head. They fell into a heap there on the platform, the engineer groaning a sad warbling sound of pain and misery.

Kastiel jumped to her feet. Gault was screaming at her, down below, "Kas! You in one piece up there, or what? Crazy-ass hunter! Why do I put up with this shit?" She reached down to grab one of the engineer’s booted feet. The guy gurgled through the blood running down from his broken nose as Kas yanked and pulled him in a single, straight line to the edge of the platform, yelling down, "Stop yammering, you friggin' loud-mouthed gremlin! Here! Catch!"

Gault chuckled as the engineer sailed out over the side of the platform, falling down to thud onto the floor in front of him. Blood covered pretty much all of the lower half of his face, so that he actually bubbled a pained bark of distress when he hit the floor. Gault went to stand over him where he was laying so flat, with arms akimbo. Gault grinned down at him, "What's that saying, about how the mighty fall? Not that you were ever so mighty or anything."

"Stop torturing the idiot." Mako leaned over the collapsed engineer and handed him a soggy cloth, "For your nose. Best get your ass moving to the nearest escape pod."

The man grimaced. But he still snatched the cloth out of the cyborg's hand before rolling over to gasp out a couple of breaths as he knelt there on all fours. They watched him pretty much crawl towards the nearby doorway. Mako glanced up, saw that Kastiel had moved to the engineer's console and started pressing various buttons. She called up to her.

"Need some help?"

"No. Stay there. I'll have it … there."

They glanced over as the nearby doors leading up and out of the engineering section clanged open. Gault grunted when a heavy length of rope dropped onto his head, then. "Dammit, Kas! I know you don't need to _climb_ down from there."

"Not me, no," Kas jetted down from the platform, landing next to the both of them with a soft thud. "But I do want you up there, Gault. Climb your ass up there and keep watch over the controls to the self-destruct. Can't have them stop the self-destruct before we secure the bridge. That's where me and Mako will head."

Gault nodded, "Good thinking, yea. Mako, you good?"

"Why does everyone wonder if I can handle myself," Mako whined.

"Well, you are a rather tiny bit of fluffy female. That Corso fellow worries himself silly about you. You should hear how many messages he sends telling me to keep an eye on you, or else lose my balls. I _like_ my balls," Gault sighed.

Kastiel smirked when Mako’s eyes narrowed, "Now I really know why he gave me 'zinger', sheesh. Like I need or want to be wrapped up in cotton, or something."

Kas was just curious enough, "Zinger?"

Mako held up the blaster she was using, "It's a Coruscant Security Force issue blaster, modified with a recharging power cell and targeting laser. Still not sure, in fact, how he managed to nab the thing, since they have pretty strict rules about their weaponry. I kind of thought Corso gave it to me in order to hide the fact he took it.” Mako shrugged, “Seriously, though. When are _we_ ever going to run into Coruscant Security Forces, huh?"

Kas grunted, “Don’t you dare say that too loud. Fate has a way of screwing with us, Mako. Let’s not give it too many temptations.”

Mako murmured as she followed Kastiel out of the room, "Yea, yea. But I'll show Corso how damn 'fluffy' I am the next time I see him."

* * *

 

Kastiel watched Tarro Blood climb to his feet before approaching the crimson glow of the security field. Close enough to scowl bitterly towards her. She shook her dark-haired head, so the braid against the side of her face twisted softly as she muttered curiously, "You have got to tell me the truth. Because I need to know how you manage it. How the hell is it you can be locked up in there, your armor stripped, your weapons gone – but your stupid face is still painted so prettily?"

"You killed my friend, you mongrel bitch!" Tarro snarled and shook his fist at her. Spittle flew out from between his paint-smeared lips, lining his mouth with froths of white as he growled, "You cut Sedyn down like a dog, snuck on him from out of the dark!"

Kastiel cocked her head, gazing at him with mild bemusement, "Well now you're just projecting, Blood. Not everyone fights the way you do. _I_ don't have to wait for my opponents to be looking the other way when I shoot them, after all. Nope, Sedyn Kyne met me there; I certainly didn’t have to sneak up on him."

"Bitch! I hate you! You just wouldn't give up! Why?"

She shrugged, "If the only way you can succeed is for everyone else to give up, then your real ability is … well, it’s not real at all. You’re just making fights you can't possibly win, dumbass. There’s no honor in that; just stupidity."

"Now you're sounding like that old fool Hedarr Soongh. The only good thing that came of Sedyn's dying is that that bastard died, too.” Tarro began pacing back and forth in the small confinement cell, “Winning is everything! You do whatever you have to, whatever it takes to win!"

Kastiel shook her head, frowning, "Well, that’s just cheap victory, because it gives you nothing. Certainly doesn’t make you greater. You know it, too. You feel it whenever you look in the mirror, and plaster your ugly mug of a face with make-up. You know, that you’re just a cheap-assed mockery, an illusion. And you can’t really win shit. You’re no Mando -- you just dress up like one, pretending!"

"Really? Let me out of here, let me get my armor and weapons from that locker over there. You want to prove how much more of a Mandalorian you are, then face me like one. One on one, right here!" Tarro actually stabbed the confinement shield with one pointed finger, so that it dinged dully from each impact.

But then Mako leaned forward, her chin quivering and her eyes blazing. She pointed back at Tarro, raging, "Fuck you! You don't deserve to die better than Braden did! I say we leave him here, Kas. Let him watch the ship come apart around him as he sits here in his little red box! It's what he deserves!"

Kastiel shook her head, not looking away from Tarro as she explained, "But _I_ deserve to see the look on his face when I shoot him down, Mako. Shit, Braden would laugh his ass off if he knew I used the blaster he gave me when I started hunting to take down his pig of a killer." She looked at Tarro, her voice thick as she finished, "I loved Braden, too, Mako."

Mako sighed, her dark eyes moist and gleaming. But she nodded, "Yea, I'll get his shit out of the locker. Hold on."

Kastiel just stood there watching Tarro Blood. The man was almost trembling with keen fervor, his make-up laden face showing vivid interest in Mako's motions as the cyborg dragged the locker back towards his cell. He practically jumped onto the locker once Mako deactivated the field and hurriedly pulled his stupid, over-shiny armor into place. Kas watched him with derisive humor glinting her dark eyes, especially when Tarro grumbled about some new scratches in his breastplate.

Hell, she thought. _That's_ what you used paint for, to smoothly highlight and boast the telltale signs of violence and challenge that made for a hunter to live. Right there on their armor, for everyone to see! Showed everyone how much a badass you really were, when your armor was scratched and dented and still worked to keep you standing. Not that Kas ever marked her armor to display the number of kills she made. Not like … Kas nearly laughed when she caught sight of the hashmarks on Tarro's shoulder plate, except she remembered that Braden's life might be represented by one of those damn lines.

"Tell me, Tarro. Are the marks on your shoulder kills you yourself actually made? Or do you include the ones you directed others to make for you?" Kastiel sneered at him, suddenly angry.

He glared at her furiously, "You're a fool if you think I'm going to allow you to make me into any notch on your armor, hunter. I won't die today!"

She leaned backwards, tapping her fingers against the blaster on her hip as she looked at him with contempt. Kastiel growled at him, "Really? I'm looking forward to seeing you try and avoid it. Maybe that will finally prove amusing, at least."

"Then laugh yourself into a damn pyre. I don't really care. I'll do whatever it takes, though. Don't doubt that," he was almost shouting by the end, nearly hysterical. Kastiel watched his eyes, the way fear bloomed there. She could see he was on the brink of sheer madness even. Like a cornered rat, she thought.

He suddenly launched himself, moving fast. Mako cried out a warning as the warrior almost sprinted for the door leading out of the room, yelling, "What! Where do you think you're going, dammit! Get your ass back here, Blood! Blood! Damn it!" Mako spun around, like she was just that confused, "What the hell just happened?"

Kas shrugged, "Well. He's doing 'whatever it takes', obviously. I'm just wondering if he'll really go through with it."

"With what?"

"Mako, come on. Who on this ship has a chance of beating me? It's certainly not Tarro Blood, and he knows it."

Mako was thoughtful, dumbfounded, "But he wouldn't do that! The Clans would hunt him down!"

Kastiel grimaced as she began striding in the direction Blood had fled, moving with deliberate and determined motion to follow along behind Tarro Blood. "Whatever it takes, he said," she muttered. She heard Mako step behind her into the hallway that led up into the bridge. Tarro's cell had been placed close enough, probably to allow for access so that the Jedi could question him. So it didn’t take over-long before she stepped out onto the bridge and watched the scrambling of various Republic soldiers and officers among the various consoles.

Several shouts of alarm sounded through the space, then. Kastiel caught sight of Tarro Blood up towards the front of the bridge, held in place by a pair of Republic officers in front of a robed man. The two soldiers released him when they saw her, though. They turned to rush at her, their weapons raised up and ready.

Kas shouted sideways, "Cover and sprint, Mako!" Mako scrambled behind a nearby edge of wall while Kastiel raised one single fist to let a single missile fly from her braced wrist out at the oncoming soldiers. The focused explosion ripped through the bridge, brightly orange and red to catch both of the attacking officers and the trio of soldiers following them, too. The men screamed shrilly, falling backwards onto the floor in black and flaming heaps. But the more pathetic technicians and engineers on the bridge just scrambled for the doors, running fast to escape the confrontation.

Kastiel shook her head to check her implants were still working. She wiped against her cheek where a line of blood caused by a piece of flying debris was smarting. Then Kas grunted as she stepped closer to the group standing in front of the viewport. Tarro Blood was glaring at her again, snarling, "I told you! She's crazy! I came here to save you from her. Help me kill her, now!"

Kastiel ignored the Jedi in favor of confronting Tarro. Kellian Jarro remained quiet, stoically observing them both with careful consideration. Likely trying to discern just how much insight he could gain through the both of the hunters arguing. He only stood there quiet, his arms held loosely in front of himself with his fingers clasped softly together. A smaller Mirialan female stood close behind him, her dark hair cropped short against her green-skinned neck. Both the Jedi were unimportant at the moment, Kastiel decided.

Kas waved her hand, palm upraised like she was no real threat to the Jedi right then. She fished for the truth, trying to see just how deep Tarro Blood would bury himself before it was over, "You know, Blood. If it’s shooting a Jedi in the back that you’re trying to accomplish here, I have to warn you. They're usually better than to be taken by surprise. Not like an old bounty hunter who counts on the honor of the Hunt." Kastiel inclined her head towards the robed Jedi.

"Shut up! This isn't a trick! The Jedi knows I mean it! He knows I'm serious when I offer to help him against you," Tarro gestured madly, panicked and wild. Kastiel frowned as she noted the subtle inclination of the Jedi's bald head, the soft agreement that twisted his bearded lips. Tarro wailed aloud, “Jedi can read minds! He would know if I was lying! He knows I’m done with you! All of you!”

Mako growled, "You'll never be able to go back, Blood. The Clans will eat you alive if you do this!"

"The Mandalorians are nothing! They're worth nothing!" Tarro Blood stomped his foot as if to emphasize his point, shaking his head wildly, "Come on, Jedi. If you value your life, you'll do as I say. You'll kill this hunter and save yourself from their Hunt."

Kastiel murmured one single word, the worst word that could ever be offered to a Mandalorian fighter. She stepped closer to Tarro, close enough he couldn't fail to hear her. And she called him out, "Coward." Kastiel's blaster whipped up, smacking against Tarro Blood's head. He cried out in pain just once before she placed the barrel smoothly against his temple and fired. Tarro's head disappeared in a bloom of red blood and brains, splattering against his pale, gleaming armor and Kastiel's face and front as his body slumped down onto the floor. Thick, dark red smears of blood dripped down from Kas’ shoulders, slowly. She didn’t wipe her face, either.

The tiny Mirialan Jedi cried out a single terrible scream of panicked shock. But her master waved a calming hand in her direction. Kellian Jarro actually looked sad as he glanced down at Tarro’s dead body, “You live your life with much violence, hunter. Does it ever sorrow you?"

Kastiel frowned at him, “Are you actually asking me if I’m _sorry_? Well, that’s just … I guess it’s very Jedi of you. But no. Not overly sorry for killing Tarro Blood. Least he got to see it coming. He didn’t give my friend that much respect."

He regarded her with somber consideration then, "He spoke that much truly, at least. You were sent by the Mandalorians to destroy me. Because I am indeed Kellian Jarro. You’re no Mandalorian, though. You have no need for revenge. It doesn’t even profit the Mandalorians at this point. The Battle of Coruscant was fought many years ago."

She was thoughtful as she looked back at him, her pale chin lifted up, “There’s a Mandalorian saying you might have heard that seems particularly apt, here. Something about how they don’t forget. Not ever. So is that what Jedi do? They forget all about justice, once time enough is passed?"

"You are here for the sake of justice?"

"Not mine, no. I'm nothing but a tool sent to deliver someone else's justice, rather."

"I am sorry for you, then. I'll ask you to lay down your weapons and surrender."

Kastiel stared at him for a long, long moment. He stood there patiently, like she would actually comply. She might have laughed, except she really was perplexed. Kas placed both her hands onto her curved hips, frowning curiously, "So … has that ever worked? Really?"

Jarro released his clasped fingers so his hands hung loose against his sides. He seemed almost sad as he explained, "Some people do have sense. Others must be persuaded." He waved one of his hands towards her, "You will drop your weapons and surrender to me."

Kastiel blinked at him. She glanced aside towards Mako, who shrugged at her. She knew it was supposed to be Jedi magic, felt it like it was a wave that brushed her mind before moving past. Like it was a breeze across her face. But what was it for, she wondered. Kastiel shrugged and lifted her own hand, waving it through the air towards Kellian Jarro, “And _you’ll_ realize what a complete idiot you are.”

The Mirialan became flustered, frightened even. Her darkly green skin mottled as she cried over towards Jarro in confusion, "Master? How did she do that?"

The Jedi settled back on his heels, his lips pressed together as he looked at Kastiel with new concern. Jarro assured the girl, "It's all right, Padawan. I will handle this. This bounty hunter simply has a stronger will than the other one."

Mako toed Tarro Blood’s dead shoulder, "Like we needed a Jedi to tell us that."

"Stop it, Mako. The little green girl has never seen Jedi magic that didn't work before. It's probably shocking as hell." Kastiel shrugged lightly, “That’s what happens when you fool yourself into thinking magic is all you need to defeat your enemies.”

Kellian Jarro interrupted them, then. He spoke adamantly, "I implore you not to throw your life away, bounty hunter."

"You live by a code, right, Jedi? Well, so do I. And it's just as precious, trust me." Kastiel flung a concussive grenade at the little Mirialan suddenly, watched as the small green female cried out in shock before she fell down into quiet unconsciousness.

"Thendys! I will not allow you to harm my padawan, hunter!" The Jedi turned to strike at her with a solid mass of … something. It was hard, cold. It picked her up so that she flew across the space of the bridge before hitting the floor with brutal force. Kastiel gasped desperately for breath and heard Mako yelling out her name, "Kas! No!"

Then she saw him, a blur of flying robes and the flashing green luminescence of his lightsaber. Even as she fought to drag a bit of air into her lungs, even as her chest burned from the desperate pain of whatever hit her  -- Kastiel was pulling both her blasters up in front of her. Everything froze for just a moment in a single, terrible tableaux. Two enemies stuck in time. It was a scene she would remember all her days, that Jedi poised to destroy her, frozen in mid-air as she fought for her life.

And then the bolts flew from both her blasters as Kastiel just unloaded, pulling against the triggers with every bit of verve and skill she possessed. Those bolts spun through the air to catch at the shocked Jedi, who'd anticipated a stunned opponent and wasn't prepared for such a rapid response. He deflected the first and then the second bolt. Even as he flew.

But then one bolt caught him, high in the abdomen. Then another. And another. More. The riddle of shots slowed his momentum so that he ended up just falling out of the air, landing hard on the floor next to Kastiel. Both of them lay there, breathlessly wheezing and winded. Blood pulsed out from the Jedi, spreading across the floor to soak against Kastiel's shoulder.

Mako rushed over, yanking and pulling at Kastiel until the bounty hunter was sitting up. Kas came to a knee, staring down at Kellian Jarro. He looked back at her, his eyes growing dim and dark. He whispered, "Not Thendys. Please. Did … nothing to them. To the Mandalorians on Coruscant."

Kastiel nodded, "She's no target of mine today."

He panted slowly, desperately, "There is no … death. Only the Force." Kastiel watched his life grow dark and finally disappear, his features going slack and limp. She shook her head, "Force or not, he looks pretty dead to me."

Mako muttered an agreement, "Yea, Jedi don't make much sense."

Kastiel climbed back to her feet, gesturing towards the bridge controls. "Mako, get the self-destruct set right. Let Gault know it's time to make his way back to the Bad Boy. I'll wake up the little Jedi."

"I'm glad we're letting her go. She seemed pretty pitiful."

Kas grumbled to herself, "I'll probably end up regretting it."

* * *

 

Artus leaned back, his dark skinned face lined with heavy satisfaction. He glanced towards the other warriors gathered together there in the room, and he smiled, "I will want to see my Champion on the Spirit of Vengeance. She's everything I've been waiting for, and more. She echoes everything we believe, everything we fight for. Even now, before we've showed her."

The Huntmaster stepped closer, "The ceremony of victory should be here at the Enclave."

"Indeed. Present her to the Clans."

Lek gestured, "They've been fighting for her before. Several clans want her fighting with them, taking their name. They’ll send their best warriors to tempt her. Shit, she’ll have to beat off suitors with a damn stick."

Vorten Fett nodded, "I've been listening to the younger warriors. They're practically drooling over her. Even when she's barely noticed them. And they were all watching, down below. They all saw."

Artus chuckled, staring at the holoterminal where an image of Kastiel Blade was frozen. She was liberally splattered with blood and gore, her features twisted with pain as she lay there on the floor. But she was fighting, fighting with determination to survive, to win, to walk away with victory. Her blasters were raised up, her bolts flying, her dark eyes shining. "Just think how fierce the fights will be once I call her mine."


	49. Presenting the Champion

Lek raised his head up as he entered the room, scanning the space to find the hunter. He whispered her name to himself. Because she was far more than some nameless hunter now. So he murmured her name when he finally spied her, standing next to the wall of windows against the far side of the room. He whispered, "Kastiel."

Unusual for her, she didn’t hear him. She didn't even look up when he came inside the room, apparently lost in thought as she examined something she was holding. So Lek stopped to watch her for a moment. It was a Mandalorian helmet she held against her abdomen, and she smoothed her bare fingers down across the dark faceplate. Behind her, the dark gray skies of Dromund Kaas were dripping, rain falling against the glass of the windows in glittering droplets that helped to highlight Kastiel’s features.

Her dark ebony-colored hair fell forward to frame the curves of her jaw, so that her pale, creamy skin almost glowed in the dim lights coming in through the windows. It made for an extraordinary contrast, her softness against the cold hardness of her armor, the greens and browns that flowed up and down her torso.

Lek's lips parted wonderingly as he breathed so very methodically and deliberately. Because she looked so incredibly perfect a Mandalorian right then. The Mandalorian feminine ideal; the armored strength encapsulating a soft sweetness that you only wanted to uncover -- a _female_. This was a woman who would fight alongside a man with her head held up and straight, proudly unafraid. Who would bear strong, capable children and then defend them with ruthless and incredible brutality if need be; a woman a man might depend on to guard his home and his back, no matter how close or far apart they were. The picture Kastiel presented right then was everything – it was family and clan, warrior and hunter, traditional and young.

Hell, no wonder the clans' men were jostling over each other outside the door, Lek thought, smiling to himself. He would too, if he were even a decade younger than he really was. Rather than someone he knew she looked at as an oldster.

Then he glanced down at the helmet she was handling, and he groaned slightly. Kastiel looked up when she heard him then, her dark eyes darting immediately towards him from across the room. She moved, her hips swaying gently as she stepped into the center of the space with the helmet spinning against her fingers. Mako came closer, too, practically jumping away from where she had been leaning against a wall. She stopped next to Kastiel as they both solemnly regarded the Huntmaster’s assistant.

Lek looked down at the helmet, reaching out a hand for it.  He asked her, "Hedarr's. Can I?"

Kastiel nodded, holding the helmet out towards him, so that the dark triangular eye-screen faced him. She had not changed the painted lines, but Hedarr’s colors – brown and gold – actually complimented the paints on Kas’ own green and brown chestplate. She frowned down towards the helmet, looking uncertain for just a moment as Lek rubbed his fingers across the facing. Kastiel shrugged, "He asked me to take it."

Lek grunted, his voice husky and rough as he remembered the old champion, "He would've wanted someone he taught to have it."

"Yea. He told me about the _aay'han_ , asked me to remember him and his words. He said Mandalorians lived well; that they fought for their clans and for their families. He spoke of honor." She looked at him, her brows tight as she remembered Hedarr’s last words, "I liked him."

Lek smiled at her, "That explains why he'd ask you to take this, then. He thought of you as one of his own, someone he trained. Means a lot when a Mando asks someone to take their armor, to keep it. You know that, right?" Kas nodded. She felt like a little kid suddenly, like she was pulled up short and lectured with concerned vigilance. It was years since she had felt so … raw, so inexperienced. Gawkish, even.

She glanced at Mako, wishing Gault was here, too. But the Devaronian was waiting for them at the cantina for some "much-needed drunken celebrations". Probably hiding from Mandalorian curiosity, even more. Kas only felt out of place, halfway between a showy example. And then a youngling needing instruction. Didn’t matter which; Kastiel just wasn’t comfortable.

Then Lek handed the armored headpiece back to her, and he smiled at her. Like he almost understood how off-balance Kastiel was feeling just then, told her, "Hedarr was my friend. Says a lot to me that _he_ thought you’d wear this so well as he did."

She breathed out and then lifted her chin up. He watched her press her lips tight, looking firm and certain as she stared past him at the door, "I'll wear it today. So they all remember him."

Lek scoffed, chuckling, "Oh, they're going to remember _you_. Don't doubt it."

* * *

 

She saw him as soon as she stepped into the massive doorway that overlooked the very same arena where she had battled her melee opponents so many months ago. Kastiel saw him and she stopped. Stopped so suddenly Lek nearly crashed into her backside. Instead, he grumbled a query, “What’s wrong?”

But Mako huffed a tiny laugh. Kastiel turned a nasty glare in her direction, swearing at her softly, "If you say a single word, I'll boot you in the ass, Mako." Lek looked back and forth between the two young women with purest confusion. Then Crista patted him on the back, smiling broadly at him before nodding towards Kas and waving her ahead, "Go on, girl. Let 'em salute you. I've been aching to say 'I told ya so!' ever since that damnd melee and I'm aiming to get to it!"

Kastiel turned forward once again, looking straight ahead towards the Huntmaster and willfully ignoring the warriors lining her path to reach him. She stepped forward, leaving Mako standing there next to Crista and Lek. The gathering of Mandalorians, all of their fighters and warriors crowded into the space overlooking the arena – the entire hall erupted into hushed calls and exclamations. They all strained to see her, look at her. Some of them practically hung down over the railings to see her better.

Kas suddenly realized the value in the Mandalorian tendency to cover their faces behind visored helmets, was so grateful she had decided to wear Hedarr Soongh’s headpiece before entering the arena. So many emotions could be hidden behind a faceplate.

Crista watched as Kas stepped forward, walking firmly forward with her chin tilted upwards in a universal gesture of pride and assuredness. Then she elbowed Mako in the side, smirking, "She still looks at 'im, huh?"

"No one else. And trust me, I've watched for it. She even asked me for advice on getting him to notice her. I’m thinking it’s not going to be a problem, though." Mako grinned back at Crista, “He can’t take his eyes off her.”

Lek was slowly beginning to understand. He scanned the warriors lining Kastiel’s march, trying to discern which one of them had caught her attention. They were all fit and lean fighters, some of the Clans’ best, he knew. Each one of them were picked carefully by their _al'verde_ to represent the finest Mandalorian squads. He could tell they'd prepared carefully, each of them determined to represent their _aliit_ proudly. So their armor gleamed in the shining lights from the arena floor.

Still, only one of them lacked headgear. He stood there with his face tilted up, staring straight ahead as he bared his throat unabashedly. Like he wanted her to see him straight-off, with nothing to hide. So she would know how proud and unashamed he was of his name and his place. His eyes glittered as the Champion passed by him.

Lek almost groaned. He leaned closer to Crista, growling low, "Cadera? She wants _him_? Out of all the warriors she could’ve picked, she chooses a Cadera? Crista! What the hell!"

Mako frowned in confusion over the outburst. But Crista looked back at Lek with a hard, angry gaze. Crista actually clenched her hands into fists on her hips, looking up at the Huntmaster’s assistant unabashedly angry, "There's no reason to get all bent out of shape, you damn coot!"

Lek shook his head, "No! Damn it! Mandalore won't like it. He’s got plans for her, Crista."

Crista leaned closer, trying to keep her voice down as she argued. She was close to pulling it off, except Mako noticed a couple of nearby fighters who glanced in their direction. Mako bit back a groan, as she thought of how Kastiel would feel knowing her feelings were on that much a display. Kastiel wasn’t keen when it came down to men and relationships; and Mako was hard-pressed not to kick both Crista and Lek for talking about her now and here.

To her credit, Crista did try keeping her voice low, "He's a fine warrior, Lek. Corridan Ordo calls him a friend. And he's representing Fett's squad today. Fett! You know that Vorten wouldn’t have picked him for the line if he wasn’t worthy."

"Crista … his clan and Mandalore aren't exactly on the best of terms."

"So his daddy was an idiot. The fool's probably dead. Don't see why so many people hold it against him, though."

"No. Don’t fool yourself into believing Jicoln Cadera is dead. I fought with him, knew him. He's probably ruling some small kingdom there on Taris!"

Crista raised an eyebrow, "And what exactly's that got to do with _Torian_ Cadera? I don't see him lauding his daddy none. Rather the opposite. Swears by his mama, doesn't he? He's a damn fine piece of Mando, Lek!"

Mako finally interjected, "I just want both of you to know I'm not _saying_ anything, cause otherwise I'm going to get a boot up my ass. She meant that, you know! She’s really good about kicking the asses of those people who upset her. Just saying."

Crista grinned at the cyborg for a small moment. Then she spun around to poke a hard finger into the center of Lek's armored chest, adamantly serious, "Now, you listen to me, you ass. There's dozens of warriors sniffing after that girl right now, and you know it. Ain't half as important as the fact she's only looked back at one of 'em!" She looked down at the assembly, watched as Kastiel turned to face the Mandalorians. The Huntmaster loomed behind her with his large, furry arms held upright as he presented her to them. Crista murmured, "You might want to start thinking what it'll sound like, calling _her_ Cadera."

Lek sighed as he watched the crowds cheer, cries of " _Oya_!" winging through the air as hard Mandalorian fists pumped high above helmeted heads. Torian Cadera was watching her; the man hadn’t dropped his gaze even a single moment. For once since he noticed Jicoln’s son, Lek saw Torian’s eyes gleaming. Torian rarely showed so much of himself as he did right then, and the sheer lack of aloofness was telling.

He suddenly remembered a hunt he made once and years ago, along with Jicoln Cadera and a troop of Mandalorian hunters. They were seeking a drexl on the moon of Dxun, near Onderon. It was a rather large specimen, in fact. They managed to take down a number of bomas and maalraas as they went along. Even a zakkeg. But Cadera had been intent on the drexl after they caught sight of its claw marks dug deep into one of the jungle trees.

Lek thought of the hunt and that look in Jicoln's golden-brown eyes, the way his gaze flared when he called out to them, laughing, "Its teeth will be as long as my arm, I wager. I want one!" He pressed them forward and he didn’t stop, too determined and too focused on his target. And the beast really was huge, its wings carving out like a blade above them when they finally found it. But Jicoln didn’t even hesitate, not even for a breath. He leaped up onto its back, slashing madly against its head with a hard blade. The thing screamed, blood spraying as it died. And Jicoln just calmly carved one of its teeth from its mouth, telling them simply, “I won the prize.”

_His son has his eyes_ , Lek thought suddenly. "It won't be easy for him, Crista. There are some who'll say he's trying to win his honor through her. That he's only using her for his own gain."

Crista snorted, watching as Kastiel walked away from the Huntmaster amid the cheers and applause. "It's not what anyone but my girl thinks that he needs to be worrying after. She's the only one he needs to convince, is all."

* * *

 They watched each other.

She watched the way his head turned and lifted, twisting the cords of his neck above his chestplate; the way his feet set firm against the ground; and the way his lean hips rotated against the sturdy toughness of his belt.

He watched the way she stepped; the way her helmeted face tilted up as if defiant; the way her armor fit against her round breasts before tapering down against a tender and soft belly; and the way her hands drifted down against her thighs as she walked.

She was glad she could see his face.

He wished he could see hers.

And both of them breathed in the first hints of the hunt, eyeing the prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drexl were massive winged lizards native to the moon of Dxun, one of four moons that orbited the planet of Onderon in the Inner Rim. They were covered in purple scales, with long necks, small snouts, and very very sharp teeth. The teeth of a fully grown drexl was easily the length of a human man's arm. Their wingspan could reach 20 meters across. 
> 
> Thanks to the short distance that seperated Dxun from Onderon during its orbit, many drexl actually migrated to Onderon over the eons. On Onderon, the creatures were often tamed and used as riding animals by the primitive humans that lived there.
> 
> Dxun itself was a jungle world that hosted a number of species besides the drexl:  
> (1) Bomas were large predatory animals that looked like chunky lizards. They attacked the Jedi Exile when her party visited the moon.  
> (2) Maalraas were scaly cat-like creatures that hunted in packs.  
> (3) Zakkeg were rare amored quadrupeds, solitary creatures, and very territorial. Meetra Surik fought and killed a zakkeg to gain the respect of the Mandalorians when she visited Dxun.
> 
> Mandalorians made traditional hunts to the moon of Dxun. The Great Hunt, in fact, originated there. Originally, the Hunt was composed entirely of Mandalorians, who battled the indigenous lifeforms on Dxun in order to win the title of Champion.


	50. Trust Me

" _This is Mandalorian space. Vacate this sector before we use you for target practice. You have two minutes_."

Gault cocked his hip to one side as he slanted a fiendish grin towards the image of the Mandalorian warrior displayed over the holoterminal, "Well now. That story would have people laughing their asses off for years, don’t you think? How the Mandalorians cheered on a champion, only to blow her to smithareens in the dead of space! People would line up to hear it, friend, trust me."

He imagined the warrior would be glaring at him. If he could actually see the guy’s face behind that blasted helmet. As it was, the Mandalorian leaned closer to the terminal until his form seemed a looming thing in front of them. Gault was actually impressed by the technique, so he wondered if he could recreate the effect. But then the warrior growled at him. And Gault decided the kind of dire warning wasn’t something he could really manage, with his own twisty tongue.

"I am not laughing, Devaronian."

"Gault, actually. Gault Rennow is my name. I'm the most humble member of the _Bad Boy's_ crew, my good man. Trust me," Gault executed a truly impressive courtly bow in front of the terminal. Then he jumped, yipping a surprised cry when Kastiel slapped a palm straight across one cheek of his backside after stealthily coming up from behind him.

"Humble? Mando, when this Devaronian asks you to trust him – just don't," Kastiel stepped alongside Gault in front of the terminal. She bumped one of her slender curved hips solidly against Gault's so he stumbled. He sighed resignedly as he sidled out of Kastiel's way.

"You've wasted an entire minute.” The warrior sounded more bemused by now, “Get out of Mandalorian space. Now."

Kastiel shrugged and smiled slightly, "I'm Kastiel Blade. I won the Great Hunt. Mandalore asked me to meet with him, here." Kas glanced over her shoulder towards Mako, lifting her chin tellingly. Mako grunted, trotting away from the holoterminal towards the bridge’s controls. Towards the controls of the _Bad Boy's_ weapons system, more specifically. Kas turned back to face the terminal, "You'd better let me know if you plan on opening fire, yea. You may not be able to trust Gault's humility. But my ability to shoot back is something you can count on."

The warrior slowly smiled, counting on his faceplate to keep his expression hidden from her consideration. The anonymity allowed him to peruse the bounty hunter’s frame, from her dark head down along her entire length. Kas leaned her weight onto one leg and braced one of her fists onto her hip, there. Kastiel had set aside Hedarr's helmet, so she faced the terminal with her face bare and exposed. He could see the scars that boldly etched the side of her face before looping down against her neck. But it hardly detracted from her appeal.

Kastiel's scars spoke of strength; of her ability to face an enemy, a powerful one, and then survive, to overcome the attack, and be made stronger for it. The glint of her implants worked even, to highlight the dark depths of her eyes until her gaze was a compelling thing, pulling at him. He finally understood Artus' words when he described her: " _She's makes you burn, Rykos. Makes you want to prove something – that you're worthy. Men will follow her, warriors will fight for her. She's like a fire you can't turn back from, even if you wanted to._ "

Kastiel crossed her arms slowly over her chestplate. Not her usual attire when she was on board the Bad Boy. But her armor didn’t obscure her shape, not when it so obviously shaped and supported her natural feminine curves.

Rykos Lok shifted his stance, so his hardening member wasn't pressed so firmly against the armor shielding his groin. He managed only barely to bite back a groaning sound. And damned if that Devaronian didn't shoot him a grin from where he could still be discerned standing there behind the Champion. Rykos bit out, "Apologies, champion. You’ve arrived earlier than we thought. I'll clear you for landing."

Kastiel twisted a grin in Gault's direction as the man's image faded from the terminal, "Humble? My ass, Gault."

Gault shrugged, "Hey, I'm pretty good at pretending. Figured I’d start fast with this group. It’ll be tricky moving around so many Mandoes, and thought it might be better to get them thinking Gault, Gault, Gault – before they looked overlong at my horns.” He rubbed his pointed tongue along the pointed tip of his tooth, smiling at her, “Here’s hoping they’re not as keenly observant as you are, Kas. Doubt it, though. You're a talented bit of baggage.” She only shrugged.

Gault smiled over her disregard of the compliment. It wasn’t even false humility. Kastiel really did believe her talents and achievements were only ordinary; as if everyone was just that much capable, too. That, and she didn’t even recognize the glances and regard that men sent her way. It bewildered the ever-living crap out of Mako, which sent Gault into gales of laughter when Mako told him, “It’s like she’s just plain uninterested in the entire male half of her own species. As if the bulge in their pants just makes them disappear from her line of sight!” But Gault was male enough, and old enough too – that he knew Kastiel was one of those rare spirits. Who’d caught sight of the one she wanted, and just plain no one else was ever going to come close to that measure.

That, and Kas simply didn't recognize the natural allurement she exuded, the innate seductiveness of her very spirit. Gault clenched his fingers, thinking how great it would be if he could put his fist straight through the face of whatever male or males had done damage enough to her female confidence that she no longer looked back when a man watched her. She just didn’t realize how damn desirable she really was, and Gault knew that someone with a penis seriously squashed Kastiel’s self-appreciation. _Fuckers_ , he thought.

Gault glanced towards the bridge, where he knew Mako was carefully guiding the Bad Boy on its path into the docking bay of the Mandalore’s ship. Then he leaned back against the holoterminal where Kastiel continued working. One thing Gault would never say of Kastiel Blade, was that she was anything like lazy. The woman worked constantly, and hard. So now Kas prodded the terminal to check and examine the various messages they received during the past weeks.

Gault tried interrupting her, grunting, "You stimmed up this morning. The headache must've been rough."

Kastiel didn't look up from the displayed message, frowning. Gaibriel mentioned something about a crime lord who was sending him on some harebrained scheme of an adventure to the edges of the Outer Rim. What idiot would claim to be Nok Drayen, and why would her brother listen to him? Dammit, why couldn't she have even one brother whose life was just boring, or simple maybe? What's wrong really, with being a farmer or a nerf herder? She only grumbled aloud, "Just a hangover, Gault. What was even in those last shots we downed? The green ones, I mean."

Gault chuckled, "Would it help if I said there are a damn few Devaronians that could've consumed that liquor? Most humans would've been laid out on the floor, twitching."

"Forget I asked."

"Good idea." He pretended to yawn, blatantly feigning boredom. Kastiel narrowed her gaze into a frown at him, watching him. He tapped his broken horn with one finger, rubbed against its cracked edge. What did he want? She finally just barked at him, "What is it, Gault?"

"Just thinking."

"You don't think. You plot. So fucking spill it, Gault."

Gault hid his smirk from her by running the spiked edges of his overlong tongue against the line of his sharp teeth. "Well. I was just wondering if that man you're looking for – you know, the one we talked about back at the Thul Palace on Alderaan? Remember that conversation? – well, I was wondering if _that_ man is the Mando you were talking about last night."

Kastiel jolted upright, almost tripping herself as she spun around to glare at him. Her eyes were wide and peeling, dark with shocked distress, "What do you mean, 'talked about last night'? What the hell did I talk about last night? Was I really _so_ drunk?"

Gault gazed at Kastiel, his eyes wide with pretended shock and surprise. He held up his hands in mock surrender, "Calm down, little lovebird! Hey, I thought your singing was particularly endearing, believe me."

"I _sang_? What the flying fuck did I sing?" Kastiel almost wailed. Gault might have continued the ribbing, because it was truly rare he managed to bait her so spectacularly. But she looked genuinely frantic. He did laugh at her, though. Hey, no one ever called him either sweet or nice.

"You should see the look on your face! You're really cute when you're nervous, you know. Your lips get all puffy-looking. Be careful, someone might try to steal a kiss when you look like that." She reared a fist back, so that Gault jumped backwards, laughing with his hands held upright in mock surrender, "Down, girl! No beating on the Devaronian!"

"Gault, you ass! I swear, I'm going to rip off your good horn and shove it up your pipe!"

"Well, how the hell am I going to tell you what you had to say when you were so splendidly drunk last night, if there's a horn crammed up my ass?"

"Gault!"

He grinned, extended his tongue out to make a loud rasping sound in her direction. She stepped forward, her fist raised up and Gault cried out in mock, amused panic, "All right, all right!" Gault cocked his head, feeling the still gentle swaying of the ship as it was being maneuvered. He became real serious, leaning his back against the holoterminal and closing his eyes as he thought over the night before.

Mako hadn't managed even one of the little green shots. By the time that liquor had made an appearance at their table, the adorable little cyborg was wilting in her seat, her head lolling as she drifted into a drunken sleep. But Kastiel? She grinned when she saw the drinks, exclaiming, “Well isn’t that just plain pretty. Gimme.”

Gault had enjoyed Kastiel's maudlin ramblings in the hour they spent huddled over their shiny, green-tinged glasses, with Mako slumped against Kas' back. He had looked at the two females, both of them so young sitting there – heard Kastiel’s voice taking on a lilting edge to cover Mako’s warbling snore – and he caught himself imagining a family of his own. Daughters were prized by Devaronian men, the way a human man would think of his own sons, maybe. But Gault had long since set aside notions of family and children.

There really was something funny, Gault had thought. That when it came to the hunter who caught him quite literally shirtless and minus a real horn, he would start thinking how great it would be to have little girls of his own. Maybe it was the way Kastiel reminded him of Hylo. Not in the looks department, mind you. And not the way he might want Hylo in bed, either.

It was the way Kastiel loved. She loved that strange disparate family of hers, even if one of them was a real live Sithy woman. Then she hunted for her other sister because she never even stopped loving her! And don’t even get him started thinking about her brothers. Yep, loved them, too. But then last night, Kastiel told him about Torian.

Gault would’ve killed for someone to love him like that again. And fuck _him_ , for having it and then throwing it away. Gault knew he was a total ass, just knew it.

He looked at Kastiel now, standing there tapping her boot against the floor and glaring at him, with those dark eyes spitting angry flames even. _She really did look beautiful_ , he thought. But he didn't smile at her then. He was actually ... solemn. "Kas, you told me how you met him. How you got those scars. How your mother died and a Mandalorian boy taught you how to get back up and keep going," he said.

Oh, yea. She told him, and he sat there listening. Knowing she didn’t talk of such things typically, and not to anyone. Gault was pretty sure Mako didn’t know half the details Kastiel shared of herself. She just rambled, “He didn’t hesitate to touch me, Gault. The blood on my face didn’t scare him, or make him disgusted. He touched me and wiped the blood off …” Gault didn’t stop her from talking, let her meander down memory lane in a bleery insipid haze of drunkenness. Honestly, she was actually rather cute as she went murmuring down into her pretty green drink. And hells, she never even said the word “love” when she called Torian by name. But Gault knew she felt it. And fuck if he didn’t think that was cute, too.

Hey, Gault was pretty sure it was unusual for humans to love like that, from their earliest childhood days. But he decided Kastiel was just that unusual a human, and he shrugged to himself. Humans were apparently capable of being that damned cute, given the chance. Who knew?

Kastiel blinked at him now, her mind spinning. She didn’t know what to say, what words to use. She just looked away, and she stared. Gault leaned closer to her, his Devaronian features taut and pointed, pulling Kastiel's gaze back to him. It was quite the most serious she had ever seen him.

And he spoke to her quietly, "I once battled the Mandalorians, you know. I pulled the triggers on those guns and watched the explosions that bloomed along the hulls of their cruisers, knew there were countless warriors who died there. I'm not really sorry for it, mind you. War is an ugly business but it's profitable. And I was fighting for someone else that day, someone I cared about more than I've ever cared about anyone."

"But last night was the first night I really thought Mandalorians are worth fighting _for_ , too. A people who'd yank up a broken little girl and put her back together again? Kastiel, those are people I could fight alongside, fight to defend." He put one red hand onto Kastiel's shoulder, squeezed her softly, "That male's someone you want. To have him, you're going to have to forget about everyone, anyone who's ever told you to hide from men. Whatever they said to you, Kas, it's complete nerf shit. I'm not joking, either. You've got something … a spark, a light. Something that's just … Hey, men chase you; they _look_ at you. And they damn well like what they see!"

"Gault … I'm not …."

He clucked his tongue, shushing her. Then he waved one finger up towards his broken horn. "I lost the horn years ago, Kas. Was putting on a show for some buxom female. Oh, she had the sweetest pair of tits, believe me! I've never regretted losing the horn, cause I had that much of a blast just in the adventure." He leaned forward, "Kastiel, have fun. Be yourself, the way you are with me and Mako. And he'll respond. Trust me. Really, this time. Just … trust me." Because if he didn’t, Gault was going to stick his boot up the Mandalorian’s ass so high he knocked his teeth out. Or his name wasn’t Gault Rennow … Now.

There was a sudden bump under their feet as the Bad Boy settled into place there in the Spirit's docking bay. Mako bounded down into the lounge, her face lit up with excitement. But she stopped when she caught sight of them there, with Gault leaning against Kastiel and his hand clasping her shoulder, their stance and demeanor earnest and intense. She frowned, "What did you do, Gault?"

Gault rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, "Why would it be _me_ who did something? Maybe Kas did something! Hey! What about that damn monkey-lizard?"

"Because it's you we're talking about, here." Mako ignored Gault's huffy sigh. Kastiel pointed towards the bridge, “They aren’t looking to board the Bad Boy, are they?”

Mako frowned at her, seeing the distraction for what it was. "No, they’re gathering just outside. Looks like every single one of Mandalore’s guys wants to look at you. Go figure. But I secured your quarters, just in case. Speaking of …We should've gotten you some more pillows while we were on Dromund Kaas. What did you do, give every pillow on the ship to me and Gault?"

"No way! Gave them all to _you_ , Mako."

Gault gasped with dramatic flair, "I knew it! I knew you liked that little metal-faced tyrant more than you like me! I'm not sure I'll ever get over it, either. I'm going to cry."

"Oh, really? That's an entertaining thought. Go ahead, I want to watch."

He narrowed his eyes, "You're mean, Kas. I've said it before. But you prove it anew every day."

"So long as we understand each other."

Mako watched as they exchanged a meaningful look as they all moved towards the airlock. Mako muttered, "Whatever you did, Gault, it better not have been anything to get us in trouble with the Mandalorians. Please remember we're going to be on a ship full of them. Loads of them. And all of them will be armed."

"Oh, please." Gault waved one red hand dismissively, "Mandalorians really aren't so tough, Mako. I've killed plenty of them. And _they_ were all armed, too."

Kastiel chuckled as she palmed the airlock door's controls, "Do you think we can avoid mentioning how many Mandoes you've killed when we meet the Mandalore, Gault?"

"Of course, oh fearless leader! You may depend on me!" Gault's voice rang out even as the doors slid open to reveal the group of Mandalorian warriors perched at the end of the ship's ramp, looking up at them. Kas could see several of their helmeted heads bend sideways, obviously overhearing the Devaronian's sing-song voice as the doors were opening. Kastiel hesitated at the door and considered them; the way that they stood there and held their bodies, even the turn of their heads, and their postures.

It was language. Even as much as the words men made with their throats and tongues. Language was a game that Kastiel thrilled to play, exulted in. Perhaps because she _watched_ people shape words with their mouths instead of hearing the sounds. Language was so much more than that, than the sounds produced by whatever species’ vocal apparatus. Whether it was cords in their throats or not. Messages were shared in twists of the mouth, flashing eyes or waving hands – even a simple lean of your hip in just some way. It all helped you understand what someone was _saying_.

The Mandalorian language was so much more than spoken, and it fascinated Kastiel. They obscured their faces behind hard, tough exteriors, and then so much of their bodies, too. She wanted to learn how they _talked_ to each other.

But _she_ was an outsider.

"Champion! Mandalore's waiting," the thickly framed warrior in the lead waved up at her, his arm raised up. He was the same man who addressed them via holo. Kastiel stepped down from the ramp to join him, looking up and into his face. Or the visored plate that covered his face, rather. She smirked at him, "What the hell do they feed you, to make sure you grow so damn big, huh?"

She could practically feel he was amused, watched it in the way he eased his shoulders back and subtly pressed his chest forward so it looked more broad. Focused so much right then on learning the subtle meanings of Mandalorian communication, even _she_ didn't miss the warrior's teasing overture. She sliced a look towards Gault and saw him wink at her. But the Mandalorian only invited her then, "Not many vegetables, I'll assure you. And a lot of spices. Mandoes love spicy food. Maybe you can try some while you're here."

Mako groaned aloud, "No! Don't feed her! You'll never get rid of her if you feed her something she likes to eat."

The Mandalorian leaned his hip to one side. Kas could tell he was smiling, although she couldn’t see the expression. He rumbled smoothly, "You assume we don't want to keep her. And that wouldn't be an accurate assumption at all, believe me." He looked back at Kastiel, inclining his head respectfully, "I'm called Rykos Lok, champion. I'll escort you to Mandalore."

They followed him as he moved through the ship's corridors. The dreadnaught was teeming with Mandalorians, the warriors and fighters pressing into the hallways as they passed. Kastiel grunted softly, "Makes me feel like I suddenly grew another head in some awkward location."

Rykos chuckled, "I think they're only admiring the head you already possess, actually."

Kas grunted, "If you say so." Kastiel stopped in the doorway of the ship's main hall. The space was wide and looming, unusual for a ship’s deck. There was an immense table centered in the room and various trophies – bones, skulls, and weapons - lined the walls. But Mandalore himself was coming to his feet from behind a large desk set back against the far wall. Kastiel focused on him as she stepped forward, moving quickly across the room.

Rykos cleared his throat as they drew close to him, announcing, "Mandalore, your Champion presents herself." Artus Lok very nearly hummed as she finally came close enough he could judge her for himself.

_She's smaller than I thought_ , he considered as he looked down at her. Not that he was really surprised. Artus Lok was a large man; he stood almost seven feet, with dark skin. His hair was dark, too, when he actually allowed it to grow. Which wasn't often. At the moment his head was bare, the hair shorn clean off. His broad shoulders and bulging chest were the result of hours spent in battles and hunts alike. No, there were few men who could top him in size, and even fewer women.

But this woman had a _presence_ few warriors he ever met could claim. Artus actually swelled with pride as he looked at her, that he managed to find such an exceptional fighter, "You're called Kastiel Blade. I like that a little war wasn't enough to keep you from meeting me. Welcome aboard the _Spirit of Vengeance_ , all of you. These are your people, Champion? Mako we're familiar with; Braden's girl, from Nar Shaddaa. I've heard she's the brains on your team. But who's the Devaronian?"

Kastiel mentally crossed her fingers, preparing herself. It was important, vital even, that Gault's place be secured. She waved her hand negligently, "Gault Rennow. A pain in the ass Devaronian, to be honest. But he makes me laugh. Found him on Tattooine. He helped me capture Tyresius Lokei."

Mandalore glanced towards Gault, one brow raised up, "You turned on one of your own?"

"Oh, believe me. Tyresius had it coming – he was just an ass. I'm glad he's dead and gone. And I wasn't the only one who hated him! Hell, no! We sold his body at auction. Proved profitable in the end," Gault actually rubbed his hands together, smiling evilly as he stood there. Mandalore shook his head, amused.

"You gather fascinating people around you, little Champion."

"Fascinating? I suppose we can be called that, at least. Certainly not too keen on being plain 'ole _ordinary_ ," Kastiel grinned. He smiled down at her, not missing that she included herself in the remark. Leadership came in many forms; Kastiel's was innate and obvious. But it was based on a comfortable familiarity, a sense of belonging that was so implicit even those who followed her would say she was a friend before they called her leader. They still deferred to her, no matter what they called it.

"You've done much for me that I'm thankful for, Champion. You stopped the auction on Hutta, avenged my friend, Hedarr Soongh, and killed that arrogant piece of shit, Tarro Blood. Says a lot that you never once lowered yourself to his level, in order to win. A damn lot." Artus eased himself forward, resting his thighs against the edge of his massive desk. He smiled tightly, "I'm almost hesitant to ask you to do something more for me. Almost."

"Why would we stop now?" Kastiel's smile never wavered as she looked back at him. He wondered what it would be like; to be young like that again, to see life as an endless adventure. Not that he was sorry for the way he had come. But he lived with enough regrets, enough loss. He'd seen friends, good friends even, die. _Made_ them die, too, sometimes.

"The Hunt is no mere sport, not to us,’ Artus watched his fighters, those of his own _aliit_. Several of his most trusted warriors stood near the doors, shifting restlessly. “The Hunt is meant to find the best the galaxy has to offer, the strongest and most determined. Usually to handle a task vital to the _Mando'ad_. I need you to show all of them, that my own Hunt was correct."

Rykos raised his head up, his eyes narrowing on Kastiel’s back more and more as Artus explained. Now he was almost bent forward far enough to fall flat on his face, trying to discern the Champion’s response. But her back stayed still and intent as she stood there, and Rykos sighed. Kastiel wasn’t the sort to betray her intentions in a mere turn of her form, or even a twitch. She was just good enough a hunter to keep her thoughts to her own self. And besides. He was certainly enjoying the view of her backside.

"What do you need me to do, Mandalore?" Kastiel didn’t even hesitate, her voice warmly strong as she asked him. Rykos shifted his stance again, ignoring the snicker from the _vod_ who stood next to him.

"There's a cavern deep in the marshes of Dromund Kaas. An unnatural place, full of … they're abominations, twisted and strange creatures. Dangerous, too. Now there's something down there, too. Something big enough to kill several of our warriors from inside the dark." Artus waved one of his large hands smoothly, "I want _you_ to kill it. Do it, bring me a trophy from the beast."

Kastiel thought of the dark murk of Dromund Kaas’ more untamed regions. Whatever monster the Mandalore wanted dead, the word “unnatural” was probably the least of a description. "I'll need the coordinates to this cavern.” Kas shrugged, “Dromund Kaas is rife with abominations, anyway, but it sounds like you're intent on a specific beast. Need to make sure it's the correct target."

Artus waved towards Rykos. The warrior stepped close enough to extend out a datapad towards Mako, but he didn’t look at the smallish female. Only slid a sideways look towards Kastiel from the corner of his eye. Artus ignored him completely, not even admonishing him to return to the doorway. Artus pointed, "Our clans are sending their most promising fighters to take on the monster. They've set up a camp right outside. Seek them out, firstly."

Kastiel raised her chin up, her dark eyes burning, "It'll happen, Mandalore." He watched her as she spun around, waving at her companions before moving out through the doors. He smiled softly, looking around the room, then. Rykos shook his head as he watched.

"Looking for the spot you're going to put your new trophy?"

"Better to have it prepared, at least.” Artus grinned at him, “You seemed to admire her even more than I anticipated. She’s all that I told you.”

Rykos grunted sourly, "Been a long time since someone made me burn like _that_ , on top of being eager for a fight along her side. She'll make Clan Lok proud. I'm still not sure why you'd keep us from courting her directly, though."

Artus shook his head, "It’s not enough she take a mate among us. I want them to know the Hunt’s found a real _Mando’ad_. The rest can come after and on its own.” The Mandalore grinned over at Rykos, “Besides. She didn’t watch you back quite so fervently as you watched her.”

Rykos frowned, "I’d still rather a Lok be the one. Even if it’s not me.”

Artus snorted then, "That female knows her own mind better than anyone of us. It’s what she’ll show them all."


	51. Hunting in the Dark

He heard Jogo before he saw him. Jogo actually stomped towards the fire where Torian was crouching down to work the electric firings on the end of his staff. Jogo grumbled at him through clenched teeth when he caught sight of Torian working, “That’s all we’ve done for days – is sit here preparing! Makes no sense, to sit out here while that beast still lives in there."

Torian flung his head back to keep the sweat on his forehead from dripping down into his eyes. The gloom of the sky was becoming even darker, so that he knew it was becoming late enough into the day to call it evening. But the rain clouds overhead made the sky even darker, too. It would likely rain soon. The murky shadows of Dromund Kaas still confused Torian, the endless dark making him feel something was watching him all the time. Lurking there in the dark. Something mean and cruel. And not truly natural, either.

It was definitely a Sith world, twisted and pulled by their dark magics.

"Fett means to move our hunt to Taris, Jogo. He's keeping us from losing too many warriors in the meantime," Torian said. He spoke evenly and slowly, in that characteristic manner which never failed to tic at Jogo's nerves. Torian was always calm and unfailingly focused; until he was utterly balanced on the fighting field and every one of the _Mando’ad_ recognized his patient strength.

Not so much Jogo. The last thing any of them would say about Jogo, was that he was patient. No, they all called him “hothead” instead. _Ori'buyce, kih'kovid_ , they whispered behind his back. Not that Jogo didn’t catch the whispers; anymore than he missed the lauding glances tossed in Torian’s direction so often, either. Jogo would never quite measure up; and he resented Torian for it. Had from the moment he caught sight of the young warrior when he first joined the troop, even. Torian seemed to naturally win every mention and every award, even when he didn’t try. It burned Jogo inside, every time.

He certainly wasn’t able to stop himself now, either. Jogo sneered at Torian, "Dev died in there and you practically don't care."

The other warriors gathered around the fire fell silent. It wasn't a few of them who shot Jogo hard looks and angry glances at the low and mean taunt. Jogo swallowed, feeling the flush washing across his pale skin as shame filled him. Torian’s gaze stayed on him, just stayed. Which was the only way Jogo knew Torian was bothered, really. Because his expression was wooden and remote as Torian stared over at him, "Dev didn't die in there, Jogo. He died outside, against my own shoulder. I didn’t leave him there."

Jogo's skin went ruddy once again. But this time it was anger that fired his blood. Jogo practically jumped to his feet, bristling with his fists clenched tight, "Are you calling me _hu'tuun_? That I didn't do something to save him?"

Torian rose up onto his feet, too, shaking his head as he faced Jogo down, "None of us could've saved him, Jogo. He died well, fighting to save our own _vod_. Couldn't ask for a better death. I was proud to call him friend, is all."

"So you don't call _me_ friend, huh?"

Torian looked at him, “Do you need such a thing? I do call you brother, call you _vod_. That should be enough."

Jogo stepped closer, until he was almost pressing against Torian's firmly stiffened frame. They looked like nothing as much as two Bantha bulls preparing to butt heads. Jogo raised one fist, as if he was just about to let fly with a hard punch against Torian’s head.

But a loud, startled shout suddenly ran through the camp: " _Ke'sush_! _Baruk_!" Jogo spun around, cursing roughly.

Torian still saw her first. He watched her, knowing even in that moment he would never forget it. He would never forget how she looked when she stepped out of the gloaming mist. She looked like a mystical creature straight out of some myth; like she was something that would only disappear as smoothly and easily as it appeared if a man didn't snatch it up and hold onto it first. Torian felt his breath catch and his heart beat faster, as Kastiel stopped just there on the edge of the Mandalorian encampment and scanned the entire area through deep, almost sable brown eyes. Her eyes were just as dark as the shade she emerged out from.

Her eye were beautiful. Torian saw that Devaronian who followed her everywhere pressing closer to her back, leaning close enough to whisper into her ear. She bent her temple slightly to the side and maybe grunted; he did see her nod slightly. Kastiel replied to her companion, and he chuckled slowly. Jogo huffed angrily as he began striding towards her, practically charging at her.

" _Megin_ _haran_ ," Jogo almost spit at her. He tried looming in front of her, his face hard and bitterly raging. But Kastiel only stared back at him, just frowning so slightly. For a single, wild moment she reminded Jogo of the too-much-patient Torian, and Jogo felt his entire body shake with repressed rage suddenly. He started to step closer to her, pointing.

But then her dark eyes moved past him and found Torian. Torian saw Kastiel’s eyes widen and turn even more dark when she saw him. Her lips parted into a pouting circle, but she didn’t say anything. She just looked at him for a long moment.

The Devaronian suddenly sidled close enough to her they were almost touching, a small whisper of movement. Just a subtle and careful looming motion. _Protective. Or comforting, even_ , Torian thought. He envied the intimate comradery of the gesture, the way she relaxed into the fellow’s calming motion. Then he wondered over the recognition in her regard, wondered.

Jogo snarled, "You're either brave. Or you’re a fool. Who else would simply hike their way into a camp full of real warriors?" Jogo thrust his chest out in an obviously intimidating gesture that did nothing to intimidate her. But Kastiel did return her gaze to the more brash Mandalorian, her dark brown eyes flashing with sudden amusement.

"I'm pretty brave. But I've been known to be foolish a time or two, as well. Still don't know what was in those green drinks Gault gave me at the cantina last week." She shook her head impishly, thumbing over her shoulder towards the Devaronian standing slightly behind her, “He swore to me it wouldn’t have set well on most human stomachs, so I think he was complimenting me. Or he’s just not admitting that I won whatever drinking contest had me downing the stuff.” Jogo glared at her, taking a small step forward as he raised a single finger to point towards the direction she'd come from.

Torian just watched her, seizing the chance to study her so close for the first time. It wasn’t watching her from the sidelines of the melee anymore, or considering her through the covering over her head this time. He was only eager to _see_ her up close, here.

He slid his gaze down her frame -- took in the curves of her shoulders under the smooth edges of her chestplate and the way the armor framed her breasts into flawless globes. She stood there assuredly, her feet spread slightly. Her legs were wrapped in more armor, all of it painted in swaths of brown and dark green. But he could still tell that her legs were long and shapely. They'd wrap snugly around his own lean hips, hug him close, warm him, encase him in feminine perfection. He hardened fast and stayed that way, so that he eased his own legs apart just to relieve the pressure.

But it was her face that drew him, drew at him hard. And Torian kept _looking_ at her. Crista had spoken of her deafness, and he could see the implants which curved under her beautiful dark eyes. The metal gleamed against the paleness of her skin, stretching back towards her ears. He imagined she could hear the dripping of raindrops falling down from the leaves of the plants in the nearby marshes, even. But the implants also highlighted the rough, deep edge of her scars where they ran over the side of her face, just along the sweetly curved edge of her jaw before entwining against her soft throat.

Scars like that … He remembered a little girl held high up in the air in a man's meaty grip, her small legs pumping as she tried to kick his face. He remembered the gurgles of her pain and fear, even through the frantic struggle she made, the way her dark, black braids swung when the man shook her small body so hard the sharp edges of his gauntlet cut into her skin.

Torian lowered his eyes, shaking his head as he thought so fast. _It can't be her. She died. We tried to find her and they told us she died._ But he wanted it. He realized he never wanted something more, than to know that small girl was the female he’d been watching all these months. And his breath caught as his mind spun in wild circles.

_"When you picture the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, what does she look like? She's human, right? I'd imagine she is. Most humans fantasize about human females."_

_"Yes. She was human. Had dark hair, black like a midnight sky with no moonlight. And big brown eyes. Like candy that melts over your fingers."_

Big brown eyes that watched, watched constantly as he soothed her pain, her fear and her terror, her hurt. He wanted to know she didn’t die; wanted _her_ so much that his chest tightened suddenly.

Jogo was pointing at her, his finger held straight out and threatening now, "If you don't leave, you'll end up with my knife in your guts, girl. You won't like it, believe me."

Kastiel grunted, unafraid, "Mando, if you could actually get your knife close enough to my guts to make a single damn nick on my skin, I'd be impressed, rather." She actually rolled her eyes at him! Jogo cursed at her again. But Kas frowned then, suddenly thoughtful, "What's that mean, by the way? _Di'kut_?"

Jogo sneered, "You're asking me to teach you _Mando'a_?"

"Well, so long as you're offering …" She waved invitingly at him.

Gault chuckled when the Mandalorian began sputtering in frustrated anger and not a little bit of bewilderment. He figured that telling a whole big group of Mandalorians that Kastiel was blatantly good at keeping her opponents off-balance just long enough to bust their asses, was likely not so good an idea. If only to keep them from considering too long how Gault himself met her.

Kastiel eased herself into a casual stance, smiling hazily over Jogo’s shaking temper. Torian leaned closer to the warrior then, shaking his head in warning, "She's not one to take on, Jogo. More warrior than you."

Jogo shot Torian a sharp glare, snorting thickly through his nostrils, "You're one to judge. _Aru'tal_."

"Not me making judgments, though. It was the Huntmaster who declared her Champion," Torian shrugged, looking back at Kastiel.

Jogo's head snapped back around, his eyes wide and startled, "What! You? You're the hunter from Hutta? _You_ killed Tarro Blood?" He ran his gaze up and down Kastiel’s frame, took in the worn grips of her blasters tucked against her slender hips.

Kastiel shrugged her shoulders slowly and snorted so softly, "Hey, I'm not from Hutta. Just went there to get that damn worm to give me sponsorship. And you wouldn't believe what I had to go through, either. He tossed me into a pit full of mutant chemilizards and rabid akk dogs."

"But she did kill Tarro Blood, yea," Gault almost sang the words, his voice lilting in the humid air.

"That's not as memorable as the akk dogs on Hutta, Gault. The dogs were braver."

Jogo shook with renewed anger when murmured laughter moved through the gathered warriors. Most of them remembered Jogo’s exclamations of support for Tarro’s motions in the Hunt, at least. He waved his hand through the air like a blade, "There aren't any akk dogs, here. Don't think that just because you have a fancy title we're going to like you tramping through our hunting grounds. Winning the Great Hunt doesn't make you one of us. Worthy Mandalorians have died out here. So finish up whatever you came here for, and leave."

Kastiel’s face turned gravely serious then. She glanced past Jogo towards the yawning darkness of the cave looming there. Torian could see her biting her bottom lip softly as she thought, wondered madly how it tasted. She looked at Torian, sliding her gaze back around. And he realized how aware she was of him every moment, regardless of her line of sight.

Kas asked Torian, "You lost someone here? A friend, someone you knew?"

Torian inclined his chin, his golden brown eyes dimming suddenly: " _Burc'ya_. Good friend, yes. Close. There's something in there, something big. It grabbed him up and bit him. We dragged him out here, but there was too much damage. Never saw the beast, though. Too dark. But you can feel it, when you're in there. Feel its heart beating against the walls."

Kastiel stared at Torian. Her words were quiet and solemn really, and they hung onto the air like solid weights, "So you wiped away someone else’s blood, here? Dromund Kaas is cruel to you, apparently."

Jogo was confused, grumbling at her, "Dev was the one Torian held onto."

She shook her head soberly, glancing at Jogo briefly, "Years ago, I mean. He wiped away the blood, and he helped. He kept it from hurting too much." Kastiel turned her head abruptly, gesturing towards the dark hole in the rock that seemed to loom in the shadowed edges of the marsh. Torian was staggered, but she didn’t see him as she directed Gault. Didn’t see the way her words hit him. But Gault did. Kastiel just stated, "It's barely midday. We have enough time to get in there and kill the thing."

"You'll not come out of there alive. Champion." Jogo snarled the title towards her past his clenched teeth, challenging.

But Kas shrugged her shoulder unconcernedly, "We'll see how hungry it is, up against how fast I am, maybe. Because Mandalore told me to kill whatever's in there, to bring him a trophy. And that's exactly what I plan on doing." She pressed her way past them, her boots squelching loudly in the wet mud of the camp's ground. Her Devaronian friend followed her, mumbling something about "crazy hunters".

Jogo spun to watch her go, frowning towards her backside. She moved through the camp towards the cave with a certain and firm gait. Like she wasn’t a bit afraid or hesitating. Jogo watched her backside and her swaying hips, heard the men whispering. He muttered, "The Mandalore's sent her on a _verd'goten_ , Torian. She'll have a _gai bal manda_ – from the Mandalore! If she lives."

Torian stood there frozen. His golden brown eyes gleamed as he watched her go, looking almost like bright shiny coins from some far off world where currency still came in those lumps. Jogo frowned at him, “What’s wrong with you, Torian?” But Torian only reminded himself to breathe. Her words, the look in her eyes – all he could think about was her, having her. That, and the threat she was marching to face.

Torian swallowed thickly, aching with the need to follow her, to protect her. This woman who'd grown from the girl he had dreamed of since he was five years old. But he stayed fast and he sighed, crouching down next to the fire once again. He waited, watching the cave's opening and thinking of everything she already survived. "She'll live, Jogo."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because she's always fought  _that_ hard."

* * *

"He doesn't talk much." Gault stepped over the dead … thing that Kastiel shot full of holes. It was good only for turning into the nasty green goo chemists were able to turn into healing materials somehow. He looked down at the beast critically, "Kas, what the hell are these things, anyway?"

Kastiel glanced at the dead creature, "Not sure. Looks almost like a horranth. Or a gannifari, maybe. Whatever it was, the dark force magics in the area twisted it beyond anything recognizable." Gault grumbled to himself, twisting his head to and fro as he tried making sense of the animal's shape. But Kas turned away, spraying some more chemicals against the round mushroom-things in the cave until they glowed luminous enough to light the passage ahead with a steady glow. She muttered, "And maybe he saves his words for things that really need saying."

Gault chuckled, "It’s pretty typical Mandalorian, maybe. Just grunting sounds. 'You're going to die now,' har har har. Like that one guy. Jogo? What an arrogant little turd."

She frowned, "He called Torian something, a word I'm not familiar with. Seemed real nasty about it."

Gault stopped, considering, "You could try shooting Jogo in the ass. Not only is it one of your favorite targets, it would have the added benefit of making me laugh my own ass off."

"We could even record it and watch it via holo whenever we need to entertain ourselves."

"Nice plan!" He drawled, "You and me make the most devious of teams, Kas. I love it." She smiled as she edged forward, lighting her way with the chemical spray Tobie provided them for this little adventure of theirs. Gault really didn’t understand why they were visiting any sort of clinic when they first arrived on the planet. So she told him, that moving around Dromund Kaas usually demanded some innovative techniques. Especially whenever the motions involved a _cave_. “It’s dark enough on this world in normal times, Gault. Better to see the big monster before it sees us, is all,” Kas explained as they approached the clinic.

And really. Gault liked Tobies Moor. The man was terribly easy to needle, with all those splendid Imperial sensibilities so intact. But he also liked Tobie’s staunch protectiveness where Kastiel was concerned, too. Tobie obviously regarded Kas like she was his own little girl. And still little, to boot. It made Gault ponder how it was for him, holding onto a truly tiny Kastiel when she was still so much a youngling.

But he still poked at him, nonetheless. Gault even leered, "You should see what I can do with my tongue. Kas _loves_ it." Kastiel grumbled some dire warnings about his tongue meeting the sharper edge of her blade, then. Tobie stood there all stiff and offended through the byplay, looking as properly father-like as any man might look in such a situation. Kas finally threw her hands up into the air and stormed out of the clinic with a rough sigh.

Gault chuckled as he watched her go. Then he settled his back against the wall to watch as Tobie glared at him. He shook his horned head at the doctor, sighing with exasperation. No one had a sense of humor, it seemed. Gault muttered, "I've never touched her like that. And never will. So you can stop with the pissy looks."

Tobie crossed his arms across his chest, looking at the Devaronian severely, "I didn't think for a minute you’ve ever touched her. Or if you did, you would have lost a damned finger. Maybe something a bit more tender than that, even. But I know Kas far better than you, too.” Tobie turned around to finish preparing the mixture Kastiel asked him to make, “She woke up here in my clinic when she was just six years old - still bleeding, mind you – and tried even then to find the boy who had already won her heart. She never stopped looking for him, and no mere Devaronian would get her to change her mind. Not _that_ stubborn mind of hers. Tongue, or no."

"Then what's with the dirty looks, hmm?"

"Your teasing at real wounds. I don’t like it."

Gault's gaze sharpened as he looked at the human, then. Tobie’s thick red hair was well-sprinkled with gray and his blue eyes flashed angrily. He was a real oldster, Gault thought. He knows things. Gault prodded, "She's tough as nails, that hunter. Gives as good as she gets. Don’t think we're not good together."

"Not good _enough_ , though.” Tobie made a chopping motion through the air with the palm of his hand flat-out, “She needs someone better than to only look at how well-shaped she is. Someone who will show her what it means to love someone as intent on protecting her as she is protecting them. And don't try lying to me, either. I know very well you follow Kas because she provides you a good place to hide; a security. You don’t really want _her_."

Gault pondered what he knew about Mandalorians for a long moment. They were independent to a fault. But they teamed up every chance they had. Mandalorian teams were generally regarded with awed fear and trepidation. They battled together with smooth synchronization, their motions fluid and dangerous. Like well-oiled machines and deadly precise. Mandalorians fought for each other, like _every_ Mando was family and important.

A Mandalorian fighting for a mate? Now _that_ would be a sight, Gault thought. So he nodded towards Tobie, "You do know she's found him, right?"

Tobie grinned as he settled down at a nearby table, pouring a hot beverage into a cup and holding it out towards the Devaronian. He explained, "She told me months ago. Right after she caught sight of him at the Enclave and learned his name. I looked into his background for her." Gault’s eyebrows arched over his forehead as he wondered what sort of contacts the doctor was able to use. So he asked Tobie.

And Tobie told him, as the rain fell down onto the ground outside while they waited for Kastiel to return. Tobie told him about Kas’ headaches, the persistent migraines caused by her implants. Her nightmares, too. Hard enough that she woke screaming, her hands held up in front of her like she was still trying to push her way out from underneath her mother's corpse. “She rarely sleeps. Rarely. If she does manage to drop off, do whatever you can to let her sleep. Even a few minutes here and there may be all the sleep she’s had for days.”

But then Tobie told him about the taunts and the jeers she endured growing up in Kaas City. In a world where flaws like deafness were reviled as a weakness and the scars that made it couldn’t be hidden away. Tobie scoffed harshly: "Returned to the clinic one night in time to hear a properly staid foreman from some Sith's estate, there to receive a particular inoculation that would prevent fever, supposedly flirting with her. That's what he called it – flirting! What he _said_ , though, was that he'd overlook her 'hideous face' because her jiggers were so nice. Jiggers! That’s what he called her breasts! Oh, and would she mind turning her face away when it was they fucked, too. He didn’t even try masking the nastiness of that word. She was just barely thirteen."

"You hurt him, right?" Gault growled out.

"I'm a doctor, trained by the Imperial Navy!” Tobie chuckled meanly, “So I did exactly what any good Imperial doctor would do in such a situation, of course. I loaded a stim with a toxin that caused a persistent itch over months of painful distress and applied it to his groin. I'm told he actually scratched his balls raw and bleeding. And no one helped alleviate his distress, because he was laughed at whenever he visited other and more local doctors."

Gault shook his head now, as he trotted along behind Kastiel. There was no way that blonde-haired Mandalorian she wanted would ask Kas to hide her face when he shared her bed. The man had looked at Kastiel like she was spun from pure aurodium, rather. Like she was everything he had ever wanted. His eyes practically _burned_ as he watched her. Gault almost felt guilty when he stepped out to follow along behind her. Because he _knew_ the Mando wanted to be the one going into the dark alongside her.

Kastiel stopped suddenly. She cocked to the side as she listened to something Gault couldn't possibly hear, the slightest shuffle against the dusty floor of the cavern. Her implants generally provided a distinct advantage in these situation, and Gault learned fast to trust Kas’ caution whenever it became obvious.

Kastiel glanced back at him, motioning towards a darker, shadowy section of the looming cavern in front of them. Gault remained oh so quiet. He only nodded, moving steadily towards a rocky outcropping he could just barely discern that was set against the cavern's far wall. He lowered himself carefully, slowly and quietly raising his rifle to shoulder length before resting it on top of the rough surface of the stone in front of him. Then he waited, watching Kastiel edge herself closer to the dark alcove where the monster was lurking.

Exactly as they had planned when they approached the cave. " _Certainly a Sithspawn. What it was twisted from is the only question. Something big, though. Probably something cruel and violent to begin with, too. It's tortured now. The pain will drive it to even greater levels of aggression. Be ready, Gault_."

Kastiel stepped softly, encroaching slowly into the very center space of the cavern. She could hear some slight, muffled sounds. More of a snuffling than anything. But it came from something … large. Kas stopped, listening carefully. Until she heard the smooth cadenced snore of a large beast sleeping. She glanced back, grinning towards the rocky projection where Gault was perched. She lifted up one fist, clutching the grenade, there, in one gloved palm. The devaronian waved back at her, ready.

Kas thumbed the device, watched as the red lights of its countdown markers illuminated the place where she was standing. Her face glowed scarlet in the dim glow of the cavern, and her implants glittered red in the blinking lights.

She heard one more scuffle of movement from the creature sleeping fitfully in its rock-strewn hole. Then she threw the grenade. It arched out over the length of the space, looking like a crimson-colored comet winging its way through the sky. It hit the beast with a loud thud right in the center of its huge nose. The creature reared up, grunting a surprised sound when the grenade smacked it in the face. Even before the explosive actually ignited, no less. An incendiary boom of blistering material suddenly and brilliantly flamed up and through the enclosed space where the beast was blinking confusedly, followed by a catastrophic roar that sounded through the space as the creature roused to full and painful awareness. Violently enough to make pebbles and the walls themselves actually shake. The creature bounded out from its lair, lumbering in a bleeding wreck towards Kastiel and bellowing madly.

It was massive! Its horned head almost scraped the roof of the cavern and its horns actually did reach up above its skull to catch along the roof's surface. Sparks flew out from around its head as its horns scraped along the ceiling. Kastiel's own head stretched high enough she only barely faced its colossal knees. No fur, although she suspected it had once possessed it. She could see old gouges and furrows where the creature had scratched, probably trying to ease the itch of fur that fell loose.

Whatever it had been was lost. Now it was just a pitiful monster, moaning in pain. Doubly so now that blood marked its face where the grenade's explosion impacted. Huge rivulets of purplish blood ran down over its snout so that it kept sneezing, flinging trails of bloody snot onto the dusty floor next to its enormous feet.

Kastiel was already moving fast, darting forward between its mammoth legs. She utterly ignored its swinging genitalia. Instead, she spun around to loose both her blasters against the back of the thing's left knee. It thundered an incredible roar of pain and agitation, trying to swing around to find her. Gault's rifle was spitting a steady stream of bolts, all of them flying fast through the air and hitting the creature along the side and back of its head as it swung in circles crazily. Its arms flailed to catch the bounty hunter who was dancing back from out of the creature's reach.

But the damage to its knee was extraordinary. The monster tried stepping but stumbled, only slightly at first. Then the stumble turned into a fall as the creature began toppling to its side, bellowing in pain and agony as it collapsed. Gault jumped up onto the top of his rock ledge, his rifle held up as he yelled to the thing to just die. He fired steadily at whatever vulnerable spots on the creature he could see.

Kastiel moved quick, dashing forward. She jumped up, landing unsteadily on top of the beast. She heard it grunt as her boots dug into its ribs. It looked down across its chest at her, its eyes glaring at through a red, maddened haze. It opened its mouth, preparing to bite at her. But Kastiel leaped again, landing in the middle of its face this time. She felt the pop of its eyeball under one of her boots, and it warbled another loud cry of the most pitiful, miserable torment. Then Kas bent over to place both her blasters against the thing's forehead.

And she unloaded.

The creature's skull burst under the force of Kastiel's attack. A spray of blood and gore gushed into the air, saturating Kastiel in vile, bloody muck. The monster screamed shrilly one last time as it died, its scream reverberating a solid time all around the cavern and echoing down the long tunnels. Gault trotted over, listening to Kas gagging and spitting against the thick layer of .. gunk that covered her. He yelled up to where she remained balanced so precariously on the dead thing's nose, "Dammit, Kas! Get your ass down here! Leastwise before you fall into that thing's mouth and I have to fish you out! That’d be fucking gross."

"I think I'm going to puke!"

"Fine. But do it down _here_!"

Kastiel wiped her eyes clear of bloody fluid, looking down at the thing's gaping mouth lined with what looked like hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. Strangely enough, considering how large the creature was the teeth weren't so much massive as they were plentiful. She considered taking its jaw for a trophy but disregarded the notion quickly when she caught sight of its large expanse of chest behind the jut of its chin. She grunted, just before taking another jumping leap onto the beast's wide torso.

Gault was talking to himself from below her, muttering really, "Why did I even follow along behind such a damn stupid female? Fucking Mandalorians all run away from the creature … but what does she do, huh? Oh nooooo, not her! She jumps up onto its face! Its fucking face!" Kastiel chuckled as she pulled a long-handled dagger up and over her dark head.

"I can hear you laughing, Kas. Dammit, what're you doing? Oh, now that's gross," Gault shuddered as the sound of hacking through flesh and bone shivered through the dark space. Kastiel just cut and sawed her way through the thing's chest, so that the blood and gore soaked into her fingernails and arms up to the elbows. Until she finally reaching her goal. "I am not carrying that thing, Kastiel. Do you hear me? I'm not!"

"Can't possibly be as gross as carrying Tyresius Lokei through the streets of Mos Illa, admit it."

Gault frowned, considering. Then he shook his head emphatically, "That thing's heart is still heavy as hell. No! I'm not doing it!"

* * *

" _Oya_! _Oya_! _Parjir_!"

Torian rose quickly to his feet when the calls of victory thrilled through the camp. He looked towards the cave opening, breathing deeply. Deliberately rhythmic, in and out. The exercise worked to ease his disquiet during the hours he spent waiting. "She's back," he barked towards Jogo, his tone rich and heavy with satisfaction. Jogo murmured a disbelieving sound. But he stepped forward until he stood alongside Torian when Kastiel finally emerged from out of the darkness of the cave opening.

Purplish-red blood covered her entire length, from head to toe. Torian blinked as he looked at her, felt his breathing hitch as he scanned her quickly, hurriedly looking to see what wounds on her might've added to the mess coating her. The blood was mostly dry against her skin and armor, but it still gleamed wetly in some spots. He clenched his fists, wanting to do nothing as much as rush across the field to make sure there was no cut, no laceration, nothing that would've made her hurt or bleed.

But Kastiel moved easily, without any sign of distress or problem. She looked around impassively, only scanning the gathering group of warriors and listening to their calls of celebratory excitement. She didn’t smile until she caught sight of Torian, and the pleasure of it spread through him.

Then Kas held up one fist, looking straight at him as her stance turned pure victorious. The Mandalorians around her responded with even more shouts and yells, cheering loudly for their champion. The image was an indelible one, held fast in the minds of everyone there. Torian knew he would never forget the way she stood there so determinedly, her fist up in the air as the blood of their enemy dried against her skin and hair.

Desire burned through him, hot and hard. He wondered if the rigid length between his thighs might ease back to normalcy anytime soon. But watching her move, twisting around to address the Devaronian behind her so he could see the curves of her buttocks, too – Torian barely managed to bite back a real groan. He decided hardness would be a pretty constant whenever Kastiel was nearby.

Torian shifted his stance, returning to his breathing exercise as the bounty hunter directed her companion. The Devaronian was stumbling as he emerged from the cave. He clumsily handled a large plastic-like sack practically as blood-stained as the hunter herself. Torian could hear Gault complaining as they both approached the campfire, "I told you I hate you, right? I know I did. At some point. Was it when you shot me in the ass? No! I remember! I told you I hated you right about the time that monkey-lizard ate my favorite shirt. Gods, this thing is heavy!"

Kastiel grunted back at him, "You changed your mind. Probably when I bought you a new, nicer shirt."

"Yea, but then you laughed when I got that nerf sandwich in the face!"

"Nope, that was Mako you said you hated."

"It was _both_ of you. I was there, wearing an onion _you_ told me to put on my good horn!"

"Hey, I was trying to help! You would've looked sexy with an onion on your horn, admit it."

Gault grumbled, shaking his head at the ringing calls that continued from the gathered Mandalorians, "Not half as sexy as I think these Mandoes think of you covered in all that bloody goo, Kas. They're practically drooling, all of them. Well … can't say about the ones wearing helmets, of course. But … sheesh, I think that Jogo guy, there, really _is_ drooling, look!"

Jogo scowled at the both of them, "I am _not_ drooling! What are you carrying, Devaronian?"

"Gault. My name is Gault Rennow. Or I could start calling you Human. You are human, right?" Gault sighed as he laid his burden down on the ground. He stretched then, reaching behind himself to clasp his hands together as he bent and pulled against his muscles, easing the aches along his back and shoulders.

Kastiel waved towards Torian and kneeled down next to her prize, "It's dead. See?"

She showed _him_ her prize. Not anyone else. She didn't even look at another warrior, in fact. It was a blatantly obvious honor, a distinction that all of the Mandalorians noted and whispered over in hushed tones. She frowned as she heard that word again, the one that brought a stiff look to Torian's face. But she ignored it when he did.

Torian looked down at the large bloody mass that Gault had lugged out from the cave, recognized the heart for what it was. The beast was dead, Dev was avenged. He grunted, proud and pleased. "Ugly," he told her, his golden-colored eyes staring into hers. Jogo was gaping at the massive thing.

"How …? I don't understand how you were able to kill it when so many of my own _aliit_ could not," Jogo actually stammered. Kastiel shrugged.

"It's about fighting smart, not just hard." She gestured, "My father told me to always, always stay in control. When you lose control of your own self, you’ve lost the battle before it even starts. Trick is to wait, judge the field carefully before you rush in there, and make sure your opponent lacks control before you do." Torian blinked, realizing he still didn’t know what happened to her family. He only ever saw her mother die; but her father must have sheltered her in the years since then, he thought. Kastiel swayed on her feet, suddenly tired, "I need to wash. Gault?"

"I've got the shelter, yea. I'll set it against that far space, there. Find somewhere you can get clean."

Torian watched the Devaronian yank and pulled the trophy away, complaining the entire time he went towards a far, lonely corner of the field. Away from the other Mandalorians as much as he could manage. Kastiel was scanning the edges of the clearing, looking for a water source and smiling slightly as the crowd of Mandalorians cheered her one more time before moving off and away. Torian suddenly reached out to touch her shoulder, felt her quiver lightly. She looked at him.

"There's a large stream nearby, with water that falls over some rocks. I'll show you," Torian gestured, grunting lightly with pleasure when Kastiel immediately followed him. Jogo called out towards his back as they moved off. Something rude, the words reminding him the champion was worthy of more than an _aru'tal_ 's attention.

Kastiel yanked loose her chestplate when they reached the stream, well within sight of the camp. She knew the other Mandalorians were watching them, the obvious security of the water source probably why they'd chosen the location to camp. She held the armor under the fall of water, watching as the blood washed free of the metal surface to splash down into the pool below. She leaned over then, pushing her head into the waterfall so that her hair and neck would become clean. Water ran down her torso, saturating her shirt until the material clung wetly to her frame.

Torian looked away, biting back a hard groan. He thought instead of the motions he would need to take, everything Aily and Korwis had told him of Jicoln. Of Jicoln’s habits and his mannerisms. What weapons he preferred, what strategies he was most apt to take on any particular field. Torian breathed in, mentally preparing as he tried to ignore the splashing sounds from nearby.

There wasn't anyone else more capable of opposing Jicoln than he himself was; and killing Jicoln had now become precious important a task. Torian glanced towards Kastiel, who was quickly washing the blood from her legplates, carefully taking care of her armor. Her breasts pressed against the wet material of her shirt. Even the breast band underneath was unable to obscure the hard points of her nipples, beaded as they were under the cold, wet fabric. " _Jate_ ," he mumbled, lowering his gaze when she looked over at him.

"I'm not sure of the words you use. Mandalorians, I mean. But I'd like to learn. What's _jate_?" Kastiel admitted. She frowned when he hesitated.

"It means 'good'."

"Oh. My armor? Or cleaning it?" Kastiel smiled, holding up the glove she was splashing under the waterfall.

Torian nodded, feeling better that she managed to provide him an excuse to avoid what he thought was really 'good' in watching her bathe. He pointed, "It's important to keep your armor ready for the next fight."

Kastiel moved to her pack, pulling out a dry shirt that she used to quickly replace her wet one. She examined the cloth of the wet shirt critically, wondering if it was worth saving. Deciding the bloodstains were too heavy, Kas tossed the fabric into a sodden lump against the side of the rocks. She pulled her armor back into place, looking over at Torian and smiling when she saw he was watching her calmly, "Thank you."

He looked at her, bemused. "For what? All I did was sit here."

Kastiel laughed lightly, feeling the buzz of pure happiness that he was so near, "But you looked so nice just sitting there. I enjoyed the view."

Torian's hand shot out suddenly. As if he couldn’t help himself, and he simply had to touch her. His fingers stretched out to smooth along her jaw, up and over the rough edges of her scars. His touch moved slowly across her skin, whispering almost. The familiar gesture, the sight of him with his hand held up against her face – Kastiel’s heart beat faster, her skin tautening as she felt him. He made her feel needy, even precious. Like she was wanted. Her eyes glittered darkly as she looked back at him.

And that's when _he_ groaned, “You looked at me like that. Before. I remember.” His words were soft. The way he wanted to touch her and keep touching her.

She watched him, leaned slightly into his touch. They stayed there, silent and still and together for several long moments. Like they were connected. Then Jogo called out, his rough voice mean and course even if she couldn't understand his words. Kastiel frowned, turning her head to look at the other warrior. But Torian dropped his hand from her face and stepped back, "I'll take you to your friend."

She looked over towards Jogo, at the other warriors who kept glancing over at them, "What does that word mean? The one he keeps calling you. I think it's an insult."

He didn't look at her, "It means I'm not worthy to touch you. Not yet." Kastiel watched him standing there, his staff held tight against his side. She sighed, feeling suddenly cold and never mind the muggy air of the Dromund Kaas evening. Then she whispered towards his back, “I never forget, Torian. Not anything. And not you. I never forgot you.”

Kastiel stepped around Torian quickly, moving towards the shelter Gault set against a rocky outcropping. She ignored the ringing calls of _aru’tal_ that spiced the loud Mandalorian words nearby the fire where Torian crouched down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alor'ad - captain, commander  
> Ori'buyce, kih'kovid - phrase meaning "all helmet, no head"  
> hu'tuun - coward (worse insult a Mando can give)  
> vod - brother, sister, comrade  
> Ke'sush - Attention!  
> Baruk - danger  
> Megin haran - phrase meaning "what the hell"  
> di'kut - fool, useless individual (depending on context, can also mean jerk or moron, etc.)  
> Mando'a - the Mandalorian language  
> Aru'tal - traitor's son/daughter (literally, "blood of the traitor")  
> Burc'ya - friend, close bond  
> verd'goten - the blooding, a coming of age ritual that most Mandalorians experience at age 13, to show they're adults capable of fighting/protecting the clan  
> gai bal manda - adoption ceremony, involves the Mandalorian's declaration of intent ("I know your name as my child")  
> Oya! - A cheer, meaning "let's hunt" or "Stay alive" but also "Hoorah!" or "Go, you!". It's always positive and triumphant.  
> Parjir! - To win, be victorious  
> aliit - clan or family  
> Jate - good


	52. Not Exactly Natural

Mako ran into the clinic. She was gasping hard enough to be hyperventilating, so that she bent forward to hold her knees as she fought just to get air back into her lungs. Tobie frowned over at her from where he worked with a twi’lek man, perched on the cushioned surface of a medical bed. Tobie watched Mako from the corner of his eye, even as he handed the twi’lek a single pink-colored stim, "Apply this to your thigh first thing tomorrow morning. It should clear up the fever. But ensure you avoid broths that contain munch-fungus. I know it's popular in twi'lek dishes but the fungus exasperates your allergies."

Tobie pointed Mako towards his back office. He rushed through the directions for his medical droids so that he could join Mako. He found her pacing back and forth in the office, mumbling, "I don't understand any of this, it's crazy. Lunatic sort of crazy. Like mad bat-shit crazy."

Tobie stopped just inside the door, crossing his arms over his chest as he sighed, "Circumnavigating the length of my office repeatedly isn't going to make it any more sane, I imagine."

Mako stopped. She looked at him through wide, glazed eyes, "I just killed my sisters.” Tobie blinked at her. Mako inhaled deeply, “Ergh, maybe. I think. Well, they looked like me. A lot like me. Like twin me's. Or maybe not. Is it likely, do you think, that I'd be one of a set of quadruplents, implanted with cutting-edge technology, and then abandoned on the streets of Nar Shaddaa?"

Tobie only stood there for a long silent moment, staring at her with a bemused expression on his face. He finally shrugged slowly, "Well, you're correct about one thing, at least."

"Oh, really? What?"

"It's definitely crazy."

Mako snorted, "That's not helping, Tobie. I figured if anyone could help me figure things out, it would be you."

"Really? And you couldn't wait for Kas? Blasters can prove helpful if you're going to be killing people." Tobie settled his hip against the edge of the table he used as a desk as Mako took to pacing again. He sighed wearily as he glanced upwards, thinking, "First things first, Mako. You killed someone?"

"Two someone's. My sisters. Or at least two women who looked _exactly_ like me. But they tried killing _me_ first! I swear!"

Tobie nodded slowly. Like he was dealing with a lunatic, who needed careful handling. Or a small child that needed its hand held, maybe. He agreed with her, "Interesting. Now. What _exactly_ did you do with the bodies?"

"Easy. I left them in the alley behind the building where I was trying to get information about Izak."

"And who is Izak?" Tobie wondered insanely how to verify Mako’s identity, if there were multiple Mako’s running loose through Kaas City. Kastiel would likely burn down not a few buildings if the little cyborg was really threatened, anyway.

Mako babbled, "Coral – she's my sister, too – said he was an SIS agent hunting for us. Well, her, at least. Not me so much. No one seems to really know who I am, actually."

"SIS? Oh. Well, that's just brilliant. You couldn't have _started_ by telling me that?" Now Tobie was snorting. He rolled his eyes, even. Mako glared at the doctor as he reached for his commlink, "Hey! I was careful. I figured the less people I told, the less chance someone would get hurt."

Tobie shook his head, looking at her like a disappointed daddy might look at a child who'd just admitted she had a stomach ache after eating too many sweets, "Mako! These people depend on subterfuge, deceit. They live in the shadows. A lot like those pests that scurry around only in the dark. You decided to play in their world, where they have all the power. That was stupid." She blinked furiously, refusing to cry. Tobie sighed as Mako yanked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked away from him, "Truly, Mako. Why didn't you wait for Kastiel? Even Gault might have been able to help, crazy as that sounds."

"Kas didn't like me poking around for answers. I mean, she didn't stop me or anything. But I know she didn't want me to, either. Is that who you called? That's great. Just _great_. She's going to kill me," Mako started pacing again. He wondered if he needed to prepare a stim to keep her from falling over out of sheerest agitation.

Tobie just shook his head as he waved her towards the doorway. He yanked a pale white cloak over his jacket as they rushed out of the clinic. He pulled Mako along with him, "No. Kas and Gault are still looking for that target the Mandalorians were hunting. She suspected it was a sithspawn. I refuse to distract her from such a dangerous task. But we must retrieve these remains. Many of the answers you need can be found in a pair of bodies that look so much like you, Mako."

They hurried through the dark streets of Kaas City. There weren't many people traveling along the roadways, probably because of the inevitable rain starting to fall. Even the patrols were huddled in the archways of various doorways as they passed by. The soldiers only glanced towards them before ignoring the white-cloak of a medic rushing along the way.

It wasn't until they reached the square where Lord Ergast's monument loomed that Tobie slowed, waving a single hand towards one of the more shadowed alcoves. Mako gaped as a large, lumbering shadow appeared and shuffled towards them. A black-furred Wookiee snuffled a greeting as he approached. She glanced behind him, looked at the heavy cart he was pulling in his wake.

Tobie waved towards the wookiee, "Mako, this is Gramum. He helps me with various tasks in and around the city. Mostly transporting bodies. Dead and otherwise. We tend to be a common enough sight that no one will bother us. Now, Mako. Please, show us the way."

* * *

 

Kastiel found Mako huddled over the table in the mess. Mako didn't look up as Kas tumbled into a chair and laid her head against its back, huffing a loud sigh of tired aggravation. They only sat there quietly, listening to the hum of the ship's power generators and the slow, subtle buzzing of the overhead lights.

Gault, of course, was yelling at Quinnie down below for … doing something, somewhere. Probably in his quarters. Kas shook her head, chuckling wearily. Mako grumbled suddenly then, "I'm not really human, Kas. I'm a freak."

Kastiel sighed roughly, "And here I thought you were going to give me some really _bad_ news."

"I'm serious! Stop making a joke about this!"

Kastiel's head snapped forward, her eyes brightly vivid and glaring all of sudden, and Mako realized her friend was truly, really, and totally … Pissed. Off. Kas leaned forward, almost reaching across the table and holding up one hand as she pointed a single, long finger towards the little cyborg. "Who the fuck is joking? You think I'm laughing when I say I'm not in the least concerned what the hell you _are_ , Mako?" The hunter's voice rose steadily until she was nearly shouting. Below decks even Gault shut up.

"Bad news would be admitting to me there's people looking for you who might try hurting you, people I can't see coming. Worst news would be telling me you went looking for trouble when I wasn't around to help. But to top it all off, the biggest load of nerf shit is you tossing it onto the table like a fucking bomb that I’d be bothered you were produced in a tube like a tadpole rather than tossed into the Nar Shaddaa gutter by fucking trash lowlifes? I mean, seriously! Who gives a load of crap how you were made, Mako? Only thing it means to me, is now I don’t have to hunt down whatever sorry-assed parents you might’ve had and shoot them both in the ass!” Kastiel stood up, so angry she was shaking. She screamed down at the wilting Mako then, "Damn it, Mako! The next time you go hunting for trouble without telling me what the fuck is going on, I'll put a scar on your ass that matches the one on Gault's! I swear to … Whatever!"

Mako stared after the bounty hunter as she stomped from the lounge down the hall towards her quarters, huffing and muttering the entire way. She thought crazily it was lucky the ship's doors didn't slam. But Kastiel did manage a pretty good series of shoving motions when she reached the doorway of her quarters. Mako sat there, listening to Kastiel kicking the edge of the door so that a loud series of bangs sounded through the upper deck of the ship, before the bounty hunter finally ducked inside the room.

Mako sat there staring bemusedly in the direction Kas had gone for several long moments. She absently rubbed her hands along the surface of the table, thinking furiously. So intent that Gault's voice caught her completely by surprise, "Bah! Let her kick your ass. Better that, than she breaks the ship. Plus she gets to fix your ass afterwards." Gault was leaning against the stairwell rails as he slowly rubbed one long-fingered hand over the curve of his rear end. Mako shook her head at him, "I'm not as stupid as you are, Gault."

"Do you truly believe that? Sweetheart, I ask for permission before I go doing shit that might piss her off. That way it's not _me_ she's pissed at when things get dicey."

Mako blinked, looking back down at the table to try hiding the wash of moisture in her eyes. She ignored the Devaronian as he retrieved a couple of glasses and a bottle, just staring down at the glass of shimmering amber liquid when Gault pushed it in front of her. He snorted at her and prodded the glass with a pointed finger, "Down it, girlie. Correllian whiskey should never be allowed to go to waste. It's practically a rule!"

She raised an eyebrow at him, so that the implant above her eye twinkled a silvery flash at him. He grinned, raising his glass up. They shot the alcohol towards the back of their throats. Gault hummed happily but Mako leaned forward coughing as the stuff burned its way down to her stomach. He chuckled, "Mako, you're cute enough, she'll forgive you. The worst you'll get is a lecture about how 'you better not do it again'. Nothing to worry about!"

Mako coughed a few more times as she twirled the glass back and forth across the table. She shook her head, "I pissed her off more when I thought she'd look down her nose at me since I’m not exactly natural. That’s a hunter who’s life’s been marked by nabobs sneering at her for being broken and scarred. I should've known better."

Gault shrugged, "Don't see what makes you so unnatural, personally. Have you seen how some species reproduce? The Columi don’t even touch each other! Don't think they like anything that involves actually moving their bodies, even. They use machines that allow for them to 'exchange bodily fluids' … that’s how one fellow described it to me. Gross."

"Not everyone can be so enlightened as you, Gault," Mako frowned, then. But her mouth hung open, as she oh so hesitated to ask him.

"Spit it out. The question, mind you. Not the liquor. Do _not_ puke on me!"

"I wasn't going to puke! I just … well." Mako took a deep breath. Gault watched her trying to figure out how to pose the question. She stopped. Tried again. He thought she looked like a fish under water, bobbing her mouth open and closed again. And open. Closed. Gault just grinned at her. But eventually, finally Mako blurted out in a single, breathless rush, "What about Corso? I'm not exactly a … well, I'm not … normal! Won’t he be disgusted? What if he thinks … or says that I’m gross?"

Gault leaned forward, blinking with curiosity, "Is this a result of cybernetics? Or maybe it's how cybernetics affect a female brain?"

"What?" Mako stammered with confusion, frowning.

He shook his head, chuckling across the table at her, "Well, come on, Mako. Not like you're the first cyborg woman I've talked to recently who worries endlessly over how the fellow she loves is going to react to her cybernetic features."

"You mean Kas? But she's …"

Gault held up a hand and shook his head, "No, no! You’re pretty cute, too, Mako."

"I didn't even finish what I was going to say!"

"You didn't have to." Gault shrugged, "Mako, I don't imagine Corso will care one way or the other how you joined this great, big galaxy; through a uterus or a glass bowl in a lab, either way. And honestly? If he did care, I'd just rip him apart for you. Give you all the important parts. Problem solved."

"You're crazy, Gault."

"Oh, trust me, I know. Look what sort of people I've decided to spend my retirement with, sheesh!"

* * *

 

Mako sighed as the kiosk slid by the nearby window, the brilliant wash of colored lights flaring brightly across the walls of the hotel room. The voice of the twi'lek woman advertising one of the nearby cantinas provided a rather comforting hum as the advert slid further along its way. She stiffened when she heard the blip of the code being input on the nearby door.

"Mako! Sweet, wait until I tell you what we managed to pull off! The captain's hit the big time, woo-ee!" Corso almost bounded into the room, waving his arms excitedly. He tossed his bundle against a nearby wall before settling his rifle against the side of the bedside table.

Then he glanced across the space towards her, frowning when he saw the serious expression on her face.

Corso was not the wisest of men. He told Gaib very seriously that he would've been purely content to live out his life as a simple herder on some backworld on the far edges of the galaxy, in fact. And he knew it, too. Corso didn’t suffer from illusions he was anything extraordinary, at all.

But the one single bit of brilliance he could claim was a real appreciation for the subtle nuances of feminine pique. He even realized it when he was still trapped in those awkward as hells growing years that flummoxed most males when it came to women. But Corso seemed to just understand something fundamental about females that seemed to escape the note of most men.

Corso realized women worried over every niggling thing at an almost constant rate. Like every moment of every day. Give them hormones enough and they worried still more. He was pretty certain they worried about things even when they were sleeping. Like little lists that moved along through their pretty heads, all of them labeled, “Things to worry about, in order.” It was like a sport to them, to sit back and watch stuff and just plain worry about it. Worry about what it tasted like, looked like, sounded like. Mostly, they worried about what it _felt_ like.

Oh yea. Corso got it; he understood that much. The problem was, that like most men Corso was never able to wrap his head around some way to soothe their worries. And like most men, he kind of assumed he was supposed to. Too many times he realized how screwy that was. But only _after_ he’d annoyed some woman with his bumbling attempts to make them feel better and stop worrying. Gaib thought it was amusing as heck to watch him try, at least.

But Mako was too important to bumble over. So Corso mentally crossed his fingers as he prepared to prod over a woman’s worries all over again. He settled back, leaning against one nearby wall as he considered her. And he kept his voice low and soft, crooning, "Let's just get the important stuff out of the way, first. Is Kastiel alive and in one piece?" Mako nodded. "Gault? Okay. What about the monkey-lizard?"

The corner of Mako’s mouth twitched. That was a good sign, Corso thought. Mako murmured, "You consider the monkey-lizard important?"

"To me? Not at all. I'd be perfectly content if you told me its tail caught on fire and it went out in a flaming circle of screaming death. But you? Maybe you'd be upset if that happened. So is the little beast all right?"

"Yea. He's fine."

He held up his fingers, trying to tick off anymore concerns he thought might be bothering her. "Nothing wrong with the ship, then? You finished your hunts with Kas? You’re implants working all right? You weren't _hurt,_ were you? Mako, did someone hurt you? I'll find them, dammit to hell!"

By now Mako's smile was sugary, her eyes glittering as she regarded him. She bubbled, "No one's hurt me, Corso."

He sighed as he watched her, bemused at the look on her face. He chalked it up to yet another aspect of female-ness he wasn't going to really understand. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, "Well, then. I’m stumped. Can't imagine what could possibly be so bad you'd look at me like that. And I’m almost afraid to just out and out ask."

Mako bit her lip and glanced away from him. She decided it was best to just say it, just spit it out. Let the chips fall where they would. The room was paid for through the end of the following day, at least. She mentally thanked Kastiel for that much, and then she sighed, "I found out I'm not exactly … normal. I'm a clone! A fucking clone, Corso!"

Corso only stood there, quietly watching her. Waiting. Mako took a breath, staring at him like he was supposed to say something. Corso blinked as he finally admitted slowly, "Sorry. But I'm waiting to hear something that's supposed to be bad."

She looked at him wildly, "I'm not actually _natural_!"

He chuckled slowly, his eyes going sultry as he murmured to her, "Well, you felt pretty damn _natural_ to me the last time we were here. Quite a few times, too, I might add."

Mako stomped one of her little feet then, and Corso mentally sighed when he realized he still wasn’t getting it. Damn it. Mako started pacing, "I'm a freak! And there are more … well, me's. That Coral girl? She's one, too. Who knows how many there are! Hell, I don't even know if I'm the original. The … prototype. What if I was so flawed, that’s why I got thrown away? Maybe I’m just some experiment’s damned trash, Corso!" Corso watched her going back and forth across the floor. He smiled as he started unbuckling his white, armored chestplate.

"Well, I suppose that could be a problem, if there are dozens of you running around. We could come up with a codeword, maybe. Something only the two of us would know, so that I'd know it was you, if I ever bumped into another one, hmm?"

She gasped, spinning around, "How do you know it's me _now_?"

He laughed gruffly, "Who else would've known how much I hate that monkey-lizard? Oh, and had the code to our room, to boot. Hell, the damn doorman downstairs is starting to know the both of us. Maybe we should just rent the place on a permanent basis. What do you think?"

She stopped, finally noticing he was undressing. His armor was already lying on the floor against the side of the bed. He smiled back at her as he yanked his shirt over his head, lifting a hand to beckon her closer. She whimpered, smiling blearily at him, "You really do still want me, Corso?"

Corso hummed as he settled himself on the edge of the bed, "Uhm hum. I can show you, too."

She smiled as her eyes became dark and hot, watching him sitting there. She stepped closer, moving to stand between his spread knees. She reached up, looping her hands around the back of his neck before leaning over to whisper into his ear. She licked gently against the sensitive flesh just underneath his soft lobe, shivered as his hands moved slowly up along the entire line of her spine so that he could reach for the fastenings on her jacket. She whispered to him, "I definitely think we should buy this place, yea."


	53. Gai Bal Manda

_They called him "Bloodworthy". Only because he swore the Hunt's purpose was to cull the weak from the ranks of true warriors, to prove one's strength. Not for wealth or privilege. Which isn't to say he begrudged such prizes, either. But he held the title of champion, firmly, only to show the galaxy as a whole that he was worthy of it._

_And the name stuck. Better than the name of his homeworld did, even. That name was lost somewhere along the way. But he was quick to point out his world made true warriors, strong and capable. He swore they were tougher and greater than the Mandalorians themselves, said the code the Mandalorians held so fast to was really a binding, a hindrance._

_"Keeps 'em so locked into rote step, there's no real advantage, no spur towards better. A real warrior doesn't let anyone or anything judge him unworthy. He just shows 'em the might and power he's capable of, cause he already knows it's beyond judging."_

* * *

The Mandalorians were pounding the table towards the end of the meal, trying to keep the beat to the songs they were singing. Kastiel laughed as she watched them, her head swimming from the potent fruit-flavored liquor that Rykos kept filling her cup with. Artus watched her from his place at the head of the table, amused as she sang along using words she wasn't certain of the meaning to yet.

She'd have to learn _mando'a_ , he thought. And Fett's warriors on Dromund Kaas told him she was eager for the learning, too.

Speaking of Fett's warriors … Artus smiled with amusement as he noticed Rykos moving his chair closer to Kastiel's again. She didn't even consciously note the subtle movement, her lack of interest was so total. But she still scooted back slightly. The process continued for several more moments, until the bounty hunter was very practically sitting in Gault's lap. She pressed up against him, almost.

The Devaronian glanced over at Rykos, grinning as the Mando reached under the table to try and touch Kas' knee. Gault pushed one single booted foot against the edge of the man's chair and shoved hard. Rykos yelled out a disagreeable sound when his chair flew back and toppled over. But the rest of the Mandalorians cheered as he tumbled to the floor. Rykos just laughed as he rolled smoothly back to his feet, bowing low in a dramatic gesture towards the crowd.

" _N'eparavu takisit_ ," Rykos said, smiling towards Kastiel. She shrugged, looking confused at the _mando'a_ words. "An apology, champion. Means 'I eat my insult'. Had no right to touch you. Your friend was right to boot me on my ass." Artus grunted approvingly from his seat at the head of the table, pointing at Rykos, "Hah, the Devaronian saved you, Rye! And you know it!"

Rykos blushed then, even as laughter rang through the hall once again. He knew well that the warning in Artus' tone was real enough, no matter how much laughter ensued. Not that any warrior would cast disparaging views towards the Champion even if she had taken dozens of lovers to her bed. Although Rykos strongly doubted it, too. But no honorable warrior would tolerate insults towards her, either. It was Mandalore himself who broke the nose of the soldier who snidely joked that Devaronian horns must give the hunter something to hold onto when she took her pleasure.

Artus had sneered down at the bleeding man, "Insult a Mando woman like that, and it won't be _my_   fist you have to worry about. Our women would just take you apart! Learn the lesson today, from me, and be grateful for it."

Rykos was glad now, when Mako suddenly diverted everyone's attention. The small female suddenly bent over as she endured a fit of coughing, gagging against the taste of the liquor the Mandalorians were passing around the table. She shrieked gaspingly, "Oh, gods, I'm dying! How the hell do you people drink that stuff? It's like pure fire against the back of my throat!" Mako leaned over the table, looking utterly pitiful as she hung her head there, desperately dragging cool air into her mouth. The sight produced another rowdy burst of laughter from the Mandalorians, who called out to her, "Don't let the _tihaar_ get the best of you, Mako!" She enjoyed the ribaldry, actually. She happily threw her empty cup at one of the warriors, who laughed as he caught it up and filled it with more of the fruity brandy.

Kastiel grabbed the now-full cup from him, though, holding it up as more cheers sounded through the dining hall and fists pounded the table. The steady beat of their palms against the table's surface pulsed through the space as Kas gulped the _tihaar_ down until it was gone. She tossed the cup into the air once it was empty again and laughed when all of the Mandalorians followed suit. The empty cups flew up into the air before falling with a resounding clatter onto the floor all around the table.

It was Kastiel who noted movement near the doorway, though. She spun quickly, kicking out with one foot to send a single, hard cup flying through the air towards the door. The armored man entering the room, though, caught the thing rather easily, even if he did grumble at the effort. The Zabrak woman next to him snarled, "What did I tell you guys? Mandalorians are stupid crazy. We could wipe their drunk asses all over this floor right now. What say you?"

Kastiel shrugged, "Is that before or after you wipe the blood off your head?"

The woman sneered at her. "What blood are you talking about, infant?"

"The blood that'll spill over your face when I shoot your horns off." Kastiel smiled at her, then, "Don't get me wrong, either. They're real nice horns. I'd hate to see you lose them."

The man chuckled, his brown almond-shaped eyes crinkling with amusement, "Oh yea. I like her, Jew'la. She's got gumption. It'll take her far."

"Don't make me laugh, Bloodworthy. Real gumption would have her telling every Mandalorian in this room to stick their damn notions of so-called honor straight up their ass. Not sing along with them." Jew'la Nightbringer sneered at the entire gathering, taking perverse pleasure from the angry mumbles she heard. None of them had balls enough, she knew, to say a single negative word to her face. Kastiel didn't have balls, though, and she certainly didn't count on them.

"And you call _me_ an infant? At least I don't throw a whiny fit when the big kids don't want to play with me." Kastiel bent forward under the press of back-slaps that came from the warriors all around her, grunting happily.

Bloodworthy barked out a sound of amusement, before heartily smashing one of his open palms against Jew'la's rigid back and ignoring the glare she shot towards him. He just pushed her into the room while Artus climbed to his feet. The Mandalorians were pounding the table again as the Hunt's champions entered. Bloodworthy sang out, "Mandalore! We made it to your party! Now introduce the newest champion, so we can get down to the celebrating. Hell, that's why I came! You, there! Go make sure Mandalore's stocks of black ale haven't already been guzzled, quick! Defenestrator will get angry if you drank it all."

"I do not consume liquid beverages, Bloodworthy, as you are well aware." Kastiel was rather surprised the droid champion of the Great Hunt didn't clank his way into the room. Somehow, she thought, droids should clank. They had metal parts, after all. Metal was supposed to clank on metal. But the Defenestrator moved smoothly into the room, not even swinging his head to look around. Like a stalking predator. It was almost eerie, in a way.

Jew'la sighed loudly, "It's called humor, droid. Download a program. It _might_ help."

Artus called out, his voice booming above the tumult of voices, insults, and challenges. "Friends! Champions! It's time!" Kastiel was wondering which one she was – friend or champion … both? - when several hard armored hands pushed against her back, propelling her towards the Mandalore. She shot the group behind her a hard-edged glare when she stumbled, but they hid there behind suddenly helmeted faces, looking duly Mandalorian. She just knew they were laughing behind those faceplates!

"Kastiel Blade," Artus intoned solemnly.

Everything became quiet suddenly, all of the Mandalorians turning in near synchronization to face the Mandalore. Kastiel nodded as she stepped closer to him. Mako held her breath, actually reaching out to nudge Gault with a single elbow. He shoved her back, of course.

_"Is that what you want? To be a Mando?"_

_"Mandoes saved me once. They were tough, strong. They destroyed the sons of bitches who killed my mother, and they did it without even breaking a sweat. Then they picked me up and carried me miles when others would've left me to die….Yea, Mako. I want that, to be a part of that, to belong to it. I want it, so that my enemies will stop to think twice before threatening me ever again."_

Mandalore didn't produce some wordy document, then. No tomes or books, no law-making rule-enforcing dignitaries. There wasn't even a droid to document the occasion. Unless you counted the Defenestrator, who everyone knew wouldn't forget a single word or sight of the entire process. Very few knew Kastiel wouldn't forget any of it, either.

But Artus only stood taller, looming over Kastiel's upturned face. He looked down at her, at the scars that etched across her face and the implants that spanned the soft flesh under her eyes. And he told them all his intention. He said, " _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_."

Word as action, the Mandalorian way.  
He called her his child.  
So she was.

* * *

The stars were sliding by outside the viewing screen in front of them. Kastiel watched them moving along, her hands clasped together behind her back as she stood there. So many worlds beyond their sight, teeming with life. And of dying, of course. There was never life without dying. It was how you lived in the meantime that was important, right?

Artus watched her, though. Not the stars. Perhaps because he'd seen more stars in the course of his own life than Kastiel. More likely he just found her rather more interesting right then. He eased himself back in his chair, raising a cup to his mouth to gulp down one last draught of ale. "Not right that I didn't tell you of the war before I asked you to join us, Kastiel. More that it's not right I'll leave you behind, leave you on your own to show them what it is we are, the best we have to offer. There's always been a Mandalorian, here, that held the title of Champion. But I would've liked to show you what it was to be Mandalorian before I marched off, too."

She twisted a grin towards him, "I wouldn't have changed my mind, though. You could've told me I'd go with you, rather, that I'd fight on your battlefields, and I would've done it."

He regarded her, "Well. That only makes me wonder what might've changed your mind."

She shrugged, looking back towards the stars. Kastiel told him, "My people. There's no warrior stronger than the one who fights for and is fought for, in turn, by his people. If you'd asked me to compromise them, turn on them, or allow them to be harmed – well, that would've proved problematic."

He hummed softly, resting back against his chair again. He was deeply satisfied as he sat there, watching the light streaming in through the viewing screen to shine across her face. She proved so many things to him, this hunter from out of the masses of the galaxy. Proved what the Hunt was all about, what it was designed to do, to find. "I know there's more to that statement than one small cyborg and snarky Devaronian, too. But I won't ask about the others, either. Just remember you're not fighting alone anymore," Artus grunted.

The Mandalore stood up. The hall wasn't completely empty, he saw. There was still a small crowd of Mandalorians gathered around the table. They were playing pazaak with the Defenestrator. Artus grunted a sound of amusement as he spied them there, wondered at the temerity of warriors who'd take on a droid in a game of chance.

"Mandalore?" He turned back to Kastiel. She had crossed her arms across her chest as she turned to face the room again, frowning with curiosity. She didn't stammer out the question, either. She addressed him directly, certainly, so that he knew it was more something she had been pondering for a time. "What is _aru'tal_? I don't know what the word means."

Artus’ eyes darkened until they looked like black pools of murk-ridden water, deep with bad memories. He sighed. Oh, yes. He heard the whispers coming back from Dromund Kaas. Hell, it wasn't even only one of the warriors that told him what happened. They _all_ wanted to know his feelings, how he would react once he was told Jicoln's son touched her. That’s how they called him, mind you. Not with his name. But Jicoln’s.

But Artus only listened to each telling, nodded, and then he changed the subject. His fight with Jicoln was the hardest, most cruel part of Artus Lok’s place as the Mandalore. He didn’t share it with anyone.

Now Artus stepped closer to his own chosen fighter, the one he called his child. And he told her, "It means 'blood of the traitor'. A son of someone who's betrayed us, our traditions." She frowned, and he saw her eyes spark with understanding before darkening slowly. He wondered what she was thinking, actually. "It isn't a fair word to call a man, isn't right. We say, ' _Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la_.' It means, 'Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.' But even Mandalorians sometimes doubt, I know."

Kas just stood there, stiffly angry with her fists clenched. Then she muttered, almost growled, "They insulted him. In front of me. For nothing."

He understood suddenly, like light flashing. He saw what it was she was so angry for. It was Lek who warned him, as he was bent over his worktable crafting the armor that stretched across Kastiel's chest now, back when Tarro Blood still threatened her: " _She hates him because of the old hunter, the one Tarro killed. Braden was her friend, and Tarro shot him down because of her. She'll make him pay for hurting one of her own_." Kastiel was a protector, a defender. Harm someone she considered _hers_ and she fought. Fought hard and furious.

And she had lain claim to Torian Cadera already. Determined enough, he thought as he watched her. Yes, she'd have the man, he knew.

He considered who might deserve a warning of his _ad's_ ferocity. Before she beat the one stupid enough to say the word when she was close enough to hear that insult. But as he watched her turn away to face the viewing screen again, her back rigid and straight with stiff pride and determination, he smiled instead. Let them learn for themselves how strong she was, he decided. It was Kastiel he soothed, instead.

"It won't be easy, _ad_. But remember. I will always trust your judgment, respect your decisions. There may be those who question that, think I might be angered by something you do. You will not. Do you understand me?"

She looked at him, her dark eyes liquid, deep. She nodded, asking him, "What's the word for 'father'?"

" _Buir_ is what we call father. Mother, too. The word is the same. There's no role more valuable in the life of a Mandalorian than that of a parent." Artus shrugged slowly, “This war won’t allow me to be a good _buir_ to you, Kastiel. I am sorry for it.”

She looked thoughtful again, "My own father was strong. He was a warrior in his own way, and he shaped me, loved me. You will never replace him, not really." Then she looked at him, "But I'll call you _buir_. So yea, I understand what you’re telling me."

It was an honor she offered him, a gesture of tremendous respect. He recognized it. Just as much as she recognized the blessing he offered her intentions. He placed one large hand against her armored shoulder, pausing. Then he turned and walked away. And she watched him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Kastiel is learning mando'a, I have a good reason to include a lot of the translations in the actual text. "Ad", since I didn't translate the word above, means "child or son or daughter". As the story progresses and Kastiel learns the language better, she and Torian will speak that language, to each other, exclusively. At that point, the text won't neccessarily include the mando'a words themselves, even though they'll be using it. Just a heads-up.
> 
> The adoption process, as I described here, is nothing more than a simple statement of intention. The Mandalorians call it "gai bal manda" (name and soul). It involves nothing more than the Mandalorian's declaration "ni kyr'tayla gai sa'ad", or "I know your name as my child." That, along with the individual's adherence to the six rules of the Resol'narre (the Mandalorian code), is all it takes to become a Mandalorian. These aren't a people who stand on elaborate formalities.
> 
> It's equally easy to lose one's Mandalorian identity, too. The individual can renounce it themselves, or it can be taken away. Exile is rare but greatly feared by most Mandalorians. Jicoln's exile to Taris would be one example.
> 
> Tihaar was a clear, colorless liquour traditionally made by Mandalorians. It had a very high alcoholic content and a strong taste, burning the tongue and throat as it was consumed. Mandalorians joked that it could be used to degrease engine parts. It was typically made from whatever fruit was available, making every tihaar unique as it took on the taste of whatever fruit it was made from.
> 
> One last note: I used information included in the SWTOR Encyclopedia to describe Bloodworthy, above.


	54. Scouting Taris

Taris' sun slowly slipped below the horizon, turning the sky behind the pale domes of the Republic colony a blazing span of orange and red brilliance. Torian could hear something screaming off in the distant wilds, somewhere beyond the wreck of twisted metal and stone that made up so much of the wasted ground on the planet. But it all seemed so much muffled by the canopy of towering trees over his head.

He sniffed, trying to discern if any Rakghouls were close enough to the colony to prove threatening. But if the maddened creatures were approaching, they were coming from downwind. Because their stench wasn't obvious right then. The screaming just stayed persistent, so he knew the things were nearby.

Torian scanned the perimeter of the community below with a discerning eye, looking for the soldiers who moved in and around the outer edges of the colony and counting them carefully. He knew they were looking for him. The past three days he spent crouched in and around the colony, intermittently firing at the _aruetiise_ soldiers just to watch and scout their reactions and motions as they tried to find him. The scouting task was perfect, and when Fett offered him the chance Torian leaped to move alone across the terrain.

Gauging the Republic’s men in these limited pockets of urbanization was simple enough, anyway. He also had the chance to look for signs the traitor was maybe nearby; maybe Jicoln lived and breathed and fought across Taris’ surface.

Now, Torian shifted slowly where he was lying prone on his stomach atop a rough blanket he threw down over the upper edge of a rock-strewn trench. He stretched carefully, easing the strain that holding up the rifle made on his upper arms and shoulders. He leaned down to sight through the scope towards the colony below.

The settlers themselves were a varied lot. Most of them were Togruta and Cathar, some other aliens, and a scattered few humans. But then there were the soldiers. The Republic soldiers coming and going from the compound were almost all human, with only a few aliens Torian could count that formed up with the armored men. They would arrive at varied times in bulky, heavy transports that brought supplies the settlers used in their fields and constructions.

It was the tiny number of garrison soldiers stationed at the colony permanently that hunted for Torian, so maddened they were now pressing the search into the darkening hours. Probably because Torian's rifle had managed to take the heads of two Republic officers and then a hard-nosed Cathar soldier. He could hear them calling for “payback” after the attacks. Amusing, that they thought they'd manage to take his head from him, he thought.

Watching the soldiers scramble about like playing a children’s game of Hunt-the-Sneak against one lone Mando assured him Fett's squad could easily squash the entire colony, send the Republic _laandur_ fools who thought they could challenge such wilds fleeing back to their spaceport. He watched them now, though, as they prepared yet another futile search to find him. He was curious why they would choose the darkness for the effort … Until he saw it was a Cathar leading the effort.

A friend or brother, perhaps, of the soldier he killed earlier. The male was too resolute at least, his feline features stiff with angry determination. A Cathar would be better able to move through the dark than a human, his sight at night better than Torian's own. He would want to get close, so he'd move fast and use his retractable claws to strike out against what he assumed was fragile human skin. Imperial snipers wore lighter armor than a Mando did, anyway. And the Cathar couldn't know it was a Mandalorian he was bent on hunting. Not yet, he thought.

Torian breathed out slowly as the darkness finally became real enough he could ease himself back off of the incline towards the gear he'd stored nearby. He pulled the rifle around so that he could break it down into its varied parts and store it away in his pack. Then he hefted his preferred weapon, clutching the electrostaff close to his side as he moved slowly, carefully through the dark shadows, almost melting a course around the various ruins and brush that surrounded the colony's perimeter.

He could hear the troopers moving through the area, stamping and grunting as they went along. Every so often the Cathar would hiss at them for silence. Torian only shook his head as he approached the wide trunk of a massive tree, its branches lifting high into the darkening nighttime sky. He stopped there, soundless, quietly concentrating on the movement of his enemies nearby.

The men were whispering to each other, not realizing their voices carried so easily through the dense underbrush, "Damn Imp bastard … wish he'd get chewed on by a Rakghoul."

"Better than trudging through this shit of a planet in the dark, yea. But with our luck, _we'll_ be the ones that run into a Rakghoul."

A third man grunted, then, "Rather fight an Imp to be honest. Rakghouls scare the piss out of me. Mindless beasts that used to be men … gives me the willies."

"Yea but a Rakghoul cain't use a blade or blaster to kill you."

"Cause claws are better?"

The last speaker's voice came from nearby, just behind the same tree where Torian was hunkered. That man stepped around the bend of the tree, snorting in disgust at the thought of being clawed to death and stopped hard, shocked. Torian actually smiled at the look of surprise on his face as he regarded the Mandalorian standing there. Torian whispered to him, "Dead."

Torian's hand shot out, swinging his blade in an arcing motion against the soldier's vulnerable neck, just above his armored vest. The blade almost sang as it perforated the soft flesh under the man's chin, releasing a cascade of blood to stream down his front. Torian watched his eyes go wide with surprised dismay as he tried desperately to draw air into his lungs past the gurgling mess of what was left of his throat.

"What? Tooms, what are you doing over there? This isn't the time to take a piss, you know. Tooms?" The other _or’dinni_ kept up their stupid refrain, highlighting their motions and positions just out of his sight.

Torian grabbed the front of the dying man's armor, gripping him hard so that his hands didn't slide against the blood all over the man's armored chest. He pushed him forward and around the tree, propelling him like he would a battering ram. Then he let him go, pushing him hard towards his fellows. The dead man flew towards his companions, and one of them yelled out, "What the fuck …?" Then there were shouts and several groans as the bloody corpse hit them, so that the entire group fell down onto the ground in a heap of tangled limbs and thickening gore. They shrieked then, almost as loud as rakghouls and just about as panicked.

Torian stepped closer, placing his hard booted foot against the dead man's back and pressing forward, leaning his full weight against the pile of soldiers enough that the two who lived were effectively pinned in place. He stared down at them, saw them glaring up at him, "Where is the other one? The Cathar?"

"Fuck you!"

"Not interested in any of you touching me, actually. Tell me."

The smaller of the men was starting to gasp under the weight pressing on his chest. He grunted out, "You're no Imp."

"And you’re smart enough, at least."

"He'll kill you!"

"Maybe. Help me meet him and we’ll find out."

Torian glanced around, eyeing the darkness. He leaned forward again, pressing even harder against the men. He heard the snap of one man's ribs under the pressure, listened as the human actually squealed like a Gamorrean from the pain. The other one began grunting and panting as his ability to breathe became constrained. Torian just cocked his head, listening, straining to hear something from out of the dark and using the men's pain to draw out the last one of his enemies.

The men at his feet were actually gibbering by the time Torian heard it, discerned the subtle scrape of claws against stone. Then leaves and branches crackled under the Cathar’s feet as he rushed from around a pile of weathered rubbled to come at Torian and the pile of Republic men, snarling loudly.

Torian fired his jetpack suddenly, quickly jumping high and out of the reach of Cathar claws. The Cathar stumbled as his target disappeared, barely keeping himself from flying facefirst into the tree behind Torian. Then Torian came back down, landing with significant force on the back of the dead soldier still splayed over the other two soldiers. He hit down hard enough to break the corpse's spinal column so a loud cracking sound pealed through the muggy air.

The other men were squashed even further. The slighter soldier screamed out one last time, as his diaphragm finally caved under the pressure and smothered his beating heart. The man died fast. The other one yelped an agonized call, burbling, “Hurts …!” Torian hushed him by whipping his staff out and around to crack hard against the side of the man’s head, crushing his skull in a single, solid motion.

"You're Mando! Bastard! I'm going to enjoy killing you. Especially now!"

Torian calmly regarded the Cathar, watching his eyes as the man's furred face twisted into a hate-filled visage. The feline started to dart to the left, a feinting motion. But Torian was already responding to his real direction.

The Cathar seemed almost to run into Torian's swinging staff as he jumped straight towards the Mandalorian. The electric ends of the staff blared suddenly, sparking light that actually brightened the entire scene in a brilliant blue wash of color for one long moment. A Cathar scream filled the air then, as the electricity broiled through the man's body until he collapsed backwards, twitching onto the ground.

Torian yelled out, " _Kyrayc_!" He raised his hand high, his blade clutched hard in his fist. The Cathar snarled a mean snarl of sound as he looked up, in time to see the glint of the metal as the knife-edged weapon flew down, hard, hard. Torian's blade pierced the Cathar's abdomen, sliding through muscle and flesh until the merest tip met the soil under his back.

The Cathar grunted, snarling. He snapped up with his fangs, baring the blood-stained edges of his teeth. But Torian pulled his head back and out of reach. He knelt down there over the Cathar's dying body, watching the pain that filled his face. The Cathar snarled again, spitting out the blood filling his mouth, "I hate you! You and your friend!"

Torian grunted softly, bemused, "I’m out here alone, cat."

"You lie! I saw the other one myself, ‘round the edges of the fields only four days ago. Hunted him. It's why I wasn't here when you shot Yirry in the face!" The Cathar coughed up some more blood. Torian climbed to his feet, frowning down at him. The Cathar suddenly smiled, "Or did your friend die, too? Killed by a Rakghoul maybe? Poetic justice, hmm?"

Torian knelt down closer to the Cathar’s hip, reaching out to place a single finger against the blunt end of the dagger's hilt that still protruded from the the man’s stomach. He slowly pressed down, before shifting the knife forward … then back again. The pull and drag of the blade against that tender, bleeding flesh speared the Cathar with renewed agony, and he screamed, the cries ringing out through the darkness.

Torian cocked his head, regarding the pained figure in front of him, "Tell me about this so-called Mandalorian you hunted." He tapped the hilt of the dagger, ringing more pained grunts from the Cathar.

"What? No! Stop! Don't do that again!" The Cathar almost whimpered when Torian touched the dagger's hilt again. Torian stopped, staring at him, his finger frozen in place. The Cathar sniffed, "Not … he's not your friend? Okay! Just don't! Only got close enough the one time. He was … big, bigger than you. Hair on his face, his chin. Some … paint across his eyes. Armor … Mandalorian armor, it's how I knew what he was. Green armor, blended in well. His eyes … they were light-colored, like honey. Who is he?"

Torian ignored the question, "Where did you track him?"

"East! East of here, I swear. There's a transport station near there. Full of Rakghouls. You'd know it. Lost the tracks around a pool full of nasty water, started hiking back."

"He was alone? No team?"

"No. No one I saw. Until you tonight."

Torian grunted, "He's not Mandalorian."

"He wears armor like you do,” the Cathar slowly lay his fingers against the blood that pooled just around the blade piercing his stomach. There was a rakghoul scream that sounded from nearby, closer this time. The man’s feline throat tautened with compelling panic, as Torian turned his head to regard the direction of the monster’s cries. They would eat him before he even died. So the Cathar grunted, “Just fucking finish it, then.”

Torian yanked the dagger free of the Cathar's belly, but the cat barely cried out. He only lay there shaking in his death throes. Torian shook his head, “Jicoln isn’t Mandalorian. He's _dar'manda_. Traitor. And he'll be dead soon enough."

The Cathar didn't even groan when Torian plunged the dagger into his heart, ending it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I play my Mandalorians as "neutral" characters. So they're quite capable of approaching enemies with ruthless, brutal fervor. Note that Torian never attacked the civilians in the settlement, only the soldiers.
> 
> Just a few Mando'a words this time around:  
> Laandur - delicate, fragile, or, as an insult, to mean weak or pathetic. Do NOT call a Mandalorian woman by this word.  
> Auretiise – traitor, foreigner, or outsider  
> Kyrayc - killed, dead  
> Or’dini – idiot, moron or fool  
> Dar'manda - Not Mandalorian; not an outsider but one who's lost their heritage or had it stripped from them, thus losing their identity and even soul, unable to reach the Manda, the Mandalorian version of Heaven. Soulless, basically. Regarded with absolute dread by traditional Mandalorians.


	55. A Father Failed

_... I failed you, Kastiel. Really, I failed you from the start, when I only made you. I knew better, anyway. Better than to take something as precious as Tamerie when I could never give her everything she deserved, none of the care and respect she was worthy of. I couldn't even give her my name!_

_But I never wanted anything more than to be loved the way Tamerie loved me, either. And maybe that's why, when I knew I should send her so far away -- I still kept her close. Because I should have, Kas. I knew it, when Karen was screaming at me to destroy you, knew I should send Tamerie away, so you would grow up somewhere safe, whole, and Tamerie would be, too. You would've been happy, even._

_But I told myself you needed me, that you'd be better off knowing me and how much I adore you. You and your mother. Then your brother and sister came, too, all of you so beautiful, so perfect. And it was so much harder to give you up, no matter how often I told myself I should. I told myself whatever I had to, in order to justify keeping you, holding all of you. I lied to myself every moment. Because I wanted you!_

_Oh, Kas! To see your eyes light up whenever I came home to you … I would tell myself it was worth it, that the risk was justified. But I was only being selfish. Gods, it's not like there's ever been anything here for you! The Empire's rules are so simple, so neat, and they win security for people. But defiance never ends well for those foolish enough to break them, either. I imagined some far off day when you, and Gaibriel, and Camiel would leave for somewhere better for you, where you'd be safe. I always wanted you to be safe!_

_But now ... well, now that's never going to happen, is it? Or at least not so that I can see it, know it. She's destroyed everything. Everything ..._

_Remember, Kastiel._

_You're the daughter of an Imperial officer, one who's renowned, accolades galore. I fought hard for our Empire. Remember that, remember me. That no matter what anyone says to you, you are_ my _daughter, and you've always had worth and value. Remember that I loved you so much I couldn't bear to lose you. And forgive me. For being that selfish, too. Because today you paid the price for my greed. No child should ever have to suffer for the sins of her father. But you did, you suffered because I failed, because I wasn't strong enough. I'm so sorry, Kassie. So damn sorry. You deserved better, you always did. Don't forget that._

_I love you, my girl._

**-Recorded Message (partial); left in care of Tobies Moor; from Colonel Lucian Phyre, commanding medical officer of the battlecruiser Darkness (deceased); to his daughter (now acknowledged), Kastiel Shorn, registered child of Tamerie Shorn (deceased). Note: accompanying recordings included, in care of Tobies Moor.**

* * *

 

The lake of toxic water sent a mist that drifted across the garrison, leaving behind a nasty film on most of the Imperial equipment, there. As well as a steady, noxious stench that had worked over the past weeks to send an ever-increasing number of soldiers reeling into the medical bay hidden behind the thick door of Darth Gravis' headquarters.

The Imperial soldiers tried taunting their Mandalorian allies, when they set the Mando camp outside the headquarters, insisting they weren't worth enough but to suffer the stench and muck of the toxic pools outside of the shelter of the buildings and mocking them unmercifully. It didn't work.

Instead, the Mandalorians set their cooking area as close to the headquarters' doorway as they could, so that the smells of spicy _tingular_ and _gi_ dumpling soup wafted across the pathway of every single green-faced soldier stumbling by them, leaving the pitiful creatures to stop and retch as they shuffled by. After several weeks, Imperial officers began asking that the Mandalorian camp be moved further away from the garrison. Which was precisely what the Mandalorians had intended all along, of course.

Vorten Fett could hear several gagging sounds peeling across the camp even now, as the dawning sun began rising over the misty green … could it really be called water, he wondered? He shook his head as he looked out across the spillage, calling it what it really was. "Green _shit_ ," he mumbled, as he moved to duck back inside of the tent where they'd erected an effective holoterminal. The whir of shuttle engines caught his attention, though, and he lifted his head to scan the line of trees that somehow persisted nearby despite the green waste which pooled across the terrain.

Fett grunted towards one nearby Mando, "Kurt, a shuttle? Not scheduled, that I know of."

Kurt groaned his response, "Someone important, they said. The Sith, even, are all wound up over this one. One of their lords, I think."

Fett curled his lip as he moved towards the gathering crowd of Mandalorians standing near the wide, yawning ramp that loomed over the platform where the shuttle was landing. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching as the door of the shuttle slowly rose open. Murmurs trickled through the group of toughened warriors as an incredibly slight figure seemed almost to leap out of the shuttle.

Fett's eyebrows shot high as he stood there, regarding the red-skinned Sith Pureblood standing there, holding a tiny hand just under her nose. He marveled at her figure, so petite she almost seemed to be a wisp. Just a tiny ghost of a thing standing there. Her eyes were a dark amber color, almond-shaped above a small button of a nose. It sat straight above a pair of soft, narrow lips, set there in a deep red face, almost burgundy. Like a rich wine from Alderaan almost. All framed by dark black hair cropped short so that its ends just brushed against her sharp jaw.

Ripples of laughter sounded when the Mandalorians heard the small Sith grumbling about the stench, "Well, this is turning out to be quite a _stinking_ adventure, gods. It smells like shit." Fett smiled as the tiny female turned her dark-haired head to glare back towards the shuttle, "Niko! Come on, stop playing with that skinny rat-devil and get out here."

"I am _not_ playing with him, Sith! No, I'm going to kill him! Just watch me. I know you'll enjoy the show." Fett grunted when he saw the man emerging from the shuttle. Andronikus Revel was somewhat familiar to him, at least enough to recogonize the pirate when he spied him. Lucky for him, the man had never attacked a Mandalorian vessel, although the Imperials had put his name on several bounty lists over the years.

Fett made a mental note to advise his warriors to leave the pirate be, at least until he verified his status. Considering the company he was keeping, anyway.

"Yea, can't wait to see you try it, you prig of a pirate! Hey, weren't you a damned accountant at one time? Is that where you got your sense of humor?" The Devaronian who followed after the human was even more familiar to Fett, though. He'd watched _that_ man on holo, his rifle spitting a steady stream of bolts towards anyone foolish enough to try and hamper the Champion's sabotage of the _Aurora's_ engines.

So Fett leaned forward, straining to see her for himself. Because the Devaronian stayed close to the champion. And that's when she jumped out of the shuttle, landing solidly enough on the rough metal surface of the platform to send a pinging thud sounding out through the muggy mist-filled air. She sniffed as she looked around, wiping her hands against her armored thighs as she eyed the nearby surface of the toxic lake balefully, before demanding loudly, "What fucking idiot decided to build a garrison in the middle of all this shit? Or it is bad that the first thought that crosses my mind is something like, 'Has to be Imperial.' Gods!"

Revel looked over at them, finally, when a few of the Mandalorians laughed. He glared when several of the warriors, there, called back to him about the bounties on his head. The Sith patted a small, red hand against his shoulder, "Ignore the rabble, Nikos. Not worth the hassle."

Kastiel was now eyeing the pirate with a calculating regard, though, "Bounties? You didn't say anything about bounties on the pirate, Gault. All you did was make fun of his hair."

"Hey, don't look at me! Didn't realize the idiot had gotten in as much trouble with the Imps as he did the Republic, believe me. And all I said was that his hair was cut into a pretty pattern there on his head. Don't you think so?"

The Sith stepped easily in front of the pirate suddenly. Fett thought it was nearly funny the way the big man stumbled to a halt so that he didn't run right over the little female, rather than continue his angry leap at the Devaronian who was still smirking over at him. But the Sith was more firm and determined in her stance now. She stood there, her back to the pirate while she faced the bounty hunter, "Are you threatening _my_ pirate, then?"

Fett heard several intakes of breath from the warriors gathered around him. He understood how they felt, too. A _darjetii_ was nothing to sneer at, not when it came to a fight. Fighting force-users was something all Mandalorians trained for, planned for, anyway. But it was rare their skills were truly put to the test. And none but Fett had seen this particular Mandalorian fight someone so skilled. He wondered how she'd manage against a Sith rather than a Jedi, though.

But the bounty hunter just leaned back, her dark eyes amused as she took in the spitting red kitten of a Sith standing there in front of her with clenched fists. She smirked, " _Your_ pirate, huh? What, did you stencil your name on his butt cheek? Wait, no! Don't show me! I might really puke if I have to look at his naked ass on top of smelling this place."

The little Sith stopped glaring. Fett could swear she was trying hard not to laugh. The Mandoes barked out several rumbled sounds of admiration at their Champion's temerity, her fearlessness in the face of a Sith's dark power. Even Fett was grunting happily as he stood there, watching her. The Pureblood glanced towards their crowd of Mandalorians, gauging their numbers up against the bitter rage she could feel coming from Andronikus behind her. She finally raised her little chin, sniffing pointedly, "You may wish to join your gang while I calm down _my_ pirate, yes. Don't threaten him."

Kastiel shrugged, tapping one finger against her own blaster. She never once looked towards the nearby group of Mandalorian warriors. She protected her own, after all. "Sounds good. Because when pirates start saying they're going to kill friends of mine … well, I just get testy."

The Sith nodded her black-haired head, "So we understand each other."

"Maybe. We'll see." Kastiel tapped Gault on the shoulder as she stepped away from the platform, heading towards the Mandalorian camp. She left the Sith staring after her, looking slightly stunned at the sheer verve the hunter displayed so easily. Fett was pleased, leaning to his side to whisper towards Kurt, "She shows them what it is to be Mandalorian." Kurt groaned slightly, not even looking away from the hunter as she approached them. Fett just shook his head at the near-worship that marked Kurt's face, until it looked like he was almost drooling by the time the Champion had reached them.

" _Su_ _cuy'gar_ , _vod_. I'm curious what brings Mandalore's _ad_ to my camp." Fett called out the greeting, waving towards Kastiel. She glanced at him, looking curiously at the implants that replaced his right eye. He lost the orb itself when some really vicious human decided to throw acidic fire into his face during a match in the gladiatorial ring on Geonosis. Sometimes Fett missed his eye; but only because he was sorry he couldn’t remember watching the damned human die through both eyes after Fett used his _beskad_ to slice the man's gut wide open.

"Hunting, actually," Kastiel suddenly noticed Jogo, standing towards the rear of the group. She started looking around, scanning the camp with a piercing look in her dark brown eyes. Fett frowned at her, suddenly intent. Only one target on Taris would be worthy of the attention from a new Champion of the Great Hunt. And that target's son had only recently gone missing.

Kurt was muttering, "Only Rakghouls on this stinking heap of a world. Maybe some nexu. What are you hunting?" But Fett interrupted them, quickly, "Come with me, champion. We'll talk of your hunt."

A few of the Mandalorians scowled unhappily as Fett guided Kastiel and Gault past them towards the privacy of his command space. Not that Kastiel seemed to notice the angst that persisted all around her. And Gault just grinned at the disappointed puppy-dog looks the tough warriors tossed in her direction. They each ducked under the flaps of Fett’s tent and disappeared from view.

"You're looking for the traitor. Likely that he's dead, you know. This planet is a wasteland, infested with crazed beasts that used to be men. Doubtful even Jicoln Cadera could've lasted so long, here," Fett rested one lean hip against the edge of the holoterminal behind him, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her. "But I can't have my Mandalorians, a thousand strong, tramping around looking for a ghost of a traitor, either."

"Bloodworthy is certain he's still alive."

"Maybe. Wouldn't put it past the traitor. He fought fiercely against Mandalore. Unfortunate, since they were friends before then. Made the fight that much uglier."

Kastiel frowned as she regarded him, "Bloodworthy told me he raised an army against Mandalore. Do you know why?"

"Didn’t want to fight with the Empire. There were other clans that felt the same, after the Empire misused us so badly and with a damned lie. But Jicoln actually lead men against Mandalore – that’s not done, and you keep your honor after,” Fett shrugged. “Mandalore hated Jicoln when it was finished. It was bad … The Cadera clan paid their price for Jicoln's betrayal. Mostly children lived. The rest are dead. Or hiding, like the traitor himself."

"Torian doesn’t hide."

Fett's gaze sharpened at the familiarity implicit in her tone. He had heard the rumors that followed Torian to Taris, the shouted warnings and remonstrations. He actually hesitated to bring the young warrior, suspecting Torian might need some distance from the others for the hard feelings to ease off. But Torian seemed nearly compelled to go, “Nothing left on Dromund Kaas, Vorten. But there are enemies on Taris.” Now suddenly Fett wondered what enemies Torian was really seeking. Or what a prize.

Fett shrugged now, "Torian’s bold, like his father was. But don’t say that to him, either. I liked him, at least."

Kastiel shifted her stance, staring over at Fett darkly for a moment. Gault tensed behind her, actually stepped closer to the hunter and frowning towards her back. Like he sensed an impending threat of some kind. Kas bit out, "You speak in the past tense. Where is he?" Her words were sharp and direct, implicit with determination. Fett imagined she would spin around and march off to find Torian right then and there, if he only pointed the direction. Then he wondered what she would do to anyone stupid enough to even threaten him.

_Poor Jogo_ , he thought suddenly. All of the griping insults he tossed at Torian these past weeks since they came to Taris, and Torian was still going to be the one who emerged with the greatest reward this planet offered. It was Torian who neatly caught attention of the Mandalore’s own _ad_. And Mandalore himself was watching everything Kastiel did, Fett knew. It means Torian won the Mandalore’s attention that simply, too.

Then Fett’s bubbling discontent finally eased off. Because Kastiel’s arrival here, the concern tightening her features only proved Torian wasn’t really lost in the Taris wilds. But that he was hunting, instead. He was seeking to regain his honor, to prove himself to the champion. Fett enjoyed a burst of pride then, rather than the ordinary upset over losing one of his men. And looking down at Kastiel’s intent features, Fett decided Torian’s impulse was good enough. She was worth it, he thought.

Still, Fett’s lips tightened. Hunting Jicoln was a hard, dangerous course to take. Fett glanced towards the holoterminal, where the reports blinked steadily at him, "I don't know where he is, and Taris is a bad place to become lost.” He rolled one of his shoulders, easing his armor against his torso, “Torian’s last transmission came in yesterday morning, describing a potential target. He was scouting one of the Republic colonies nearby, with a garrison in place. I was going to send some fighters there, root out the soldiers and leave the colony to collapse. But we were waiting for Torian; didn’t want him caught up on the wrong side of an attack."

Gault pulled out a datapad, working quickly to input the coordinates Fett offered to him. Kastiel only glanced at the map Gault pulled up on the pad for her then, her chin tilted upwards, "Do you think they've captured him?"

Fett leaned back, shaking his head, "Torian? If they managed to do anything, it would’ve been to kill him. Not much else would’ve stopped him, and he’s strong enough to do more damage to them first.” Vorten Fett raised up an eyebrow, looking at the champion with curiosity, “Makes me wonder what you’d do to them if you found out they made him dead, mind you. If they did, I’d appreciate hearing you killed the lot of them. I don’t like it when one of my own is taken down by an enemy. As I said, I liked Torian."

Kastiel didn't respond. She only lifted her chin before turning around to leave. Gault muttered to Fett just before he followed her, "Well, if they did touch a blonde hair on his head … you might find pieces of them, you never know."

* * *

 

Kastiel bent to one knee, her gaze skimming along the torn grass and brush there in the clearing. Gault looked up, scanning to the very top of the tree that loomed over the area with his mouth hanging open, "Don't think I've ever seen a taller tree, even on Devaron, Kas. Thing's huge! You'd think the bombardment would've destroyed it."

Kas didn't even glance up from her perusal of the ground, just poked the ground with one of her gloved fingers, "Thing's probably three hundred years old. Which only goes to show you, planets are tougher than the people who try to destroy them."

"Yea, well. I'd bet real money someone, somewhere will eventually come up with the means to really destroy an entire planet. Blast it to smithareens!"

"I hope I'm dead by the time you win that bet, Gault."

Gault snorted, "Heh, I wouldn't worry. No one's crazy enough to pull a stunt like that."

"Just don't bet your money on _that_ assumption. That one you'd lose. There’s always someone crazy enough," Kas came back to her feet, glaring off in the direction of the Republic colony. She could see the edges of their fields through the tree line, even if the buildings themselves were far enough off she couldn't really discern them. "There was a fight, here. Hard to tell, though, which direction the winner went towards. Seems like a better tracker than me, at least."

Gault looked down at the dirt and grass covering the ground, wonderingly. He felt frustrated looking at a pile of dead leaves and broken twigs and trying to discern some kind of pattern from it, "How can you tell there was a fight?"

"Mostly the crushed grass and dried blood. Blood’s always a big clue of a fight," Kastiel sounded amused, of course. She crept closer to the tree line, moving slowly and ignoring Gault's mutterings commentary about "how does anyone fucking see bits of dried blood in the dirt". Gault almost huddled behind her as she regarded the nearby colony, frowning. He shifted on the balls of his feet, carefully checking the power charges on his rifle. And he kept his voice low, respecting the hunter's increasing caution.

"You think they have him?"

Kastiel was quiet for a long moment, "Not really. I think he killed some of _them_ , rather. But they're probably tracking him now. So they'll have a better idea of his direction. Besides." She shot Gault a wicked grin, her lips twisting. "Fett said there's a bounty on that garrison down there. And we could use the credits, don't you think?"

He grunted as Kas darted forward into the nearest field, keeping her head low as she moved quickly through the rows of plants and growing vegetables. He tried motioning for caution. But Kastiel suddenly let her missiles fly towards the various droids the colonists had put into the fields. Gault shouted at her, "Crazy-assed hunter! Trying to bring the lot of them running for us? Sheesh!"

"Oh, do you want to go chasing all over these fields looking for the colonists, then? Hey, be my guest!" Kastiel gestured towards the empty air in dramatic fashion. Gault glared at her sullenly as smoke billowed from the wreckage behind her. She just smirked as she spun around and rushed forward again. Gault tumbled after her, mumbling angrily as he raised up his rifle and fired steadily at every droid target blocking their progress through the field. It made for quite a light show.

Shouts began sounding, wild yells from the colonists who rushed in from the surrounding fields. The men rushed forward, surrounding their women and children as if to make a living barrier. Kastiel ignored them utterly as she rose up over the smoking heap of yet another droid. She focused, rather, on the three soldiers who came running out of the garrison building itself, their weapons held up despite their muttered curses and shaking hands.

Gault went down to a knee, taking a nebulous bit of concealment behind a small bush. His rifle spit one single bolt, the sound loud in the clear air. The officer in the lead of the men spluttered an angry sound as the bolt struck him in the stomach, spinning him around. He collapsed onto the ground, his hands held hard against the blood streaming from his abdomen. He yelled out angrily as the other soldiers screamed fearfully, throwing their weapons down before turning to run.

Kastiel's first shot took one of the soldiers in the back, hitting him against his right shoulder and causing him to stumble forward against one hard wall. He began screaming, agonized, the shrill cries peeling through the air. She fired again, aiming at the second soldier. She breathed out roughly when the bolt struck the back of that man's skull, turning his head into a mist of bloody gore.

Gault was standing over the officer by now, his rifle pointed down towards the human’s face, shaking his head as he kept right on bleeding so thickly. Gault muttered, “Done for.” He glanced up as Kastiel stalked past them towards the screaming soldier lying against the wall. The blaster bolt she put in his head then didn't really stop the cacophony, though. Only because the colonists took up the racket -- all of them shouting and yelling at her, their maddened cries sounding angry and terrified as they watched the soldiers destroyed within precious few minutes.

Kastiel finally yelled at them. "Shut up! All of you! Now!" She gently bumped her blaster's barrel against the very top of her leg armor as she waited for them to calm down, causing a steady, rhythmic tapping sound that was eventually only interspersed by the slow tears of some of the more panicked members of the colony. She finally motioned towards one of the men, who stepped closer, stumbling away from the rest of the group with his hands help up in desperate appeal.

"Please! We didn't do anything! I swear! Just … don't kill us!"

Kastiel snorted at him, "I'm looking for someone. A Mandalorian named Torian. Do you have him?"

"Uhhm …" The human stammered, his eyes confused and uncertain. Kas sighed as she watched him look back over his shoulder at the rest of the colonists, before turning back to face Kastiel again, "Any of you know what she's talking about? Please, let us help Captain Riss. He's bleeding!"

The bleeding officer – she assumed he was called Captain Riss – he glared up at her, his skin blanched and pale from the loss of blood. He was dying, they both knew it. Riss only hoped to do just one more thing with the last of his life, buy just a little more time, a little more life for these people. Damn Taris! A waste of a world! Wasn't even Imperials who'd destroyed him, his command, and his men – just a sorry bunch of mercenary bastards!

He almost spit out the words, "They don't know anything, damn you! Just a bunch of civilians. I'll answer your questions, and you let them go. All right?" Murmurs went through the group as Kastiel moved to stand over the felled officer, glancing at the wound on his stomach. She leaned over, carefully easing his hand away from the injury to regard the damage. She sighed, before applying a stim to his side that would help ease the pain he was certainly enduring, "No promises, captain. I need to hear what you have to say, first. Don't lie to me. Prove you're worthless, and the next thing I poke you with will cause you so much pain, your heart will just give out from the stress of it."

He looked at her, feeling the coolness of the pain medication easing through his system. He glanced back at the colonists, saw them watching him. The slim twi'lek who'd tried flirting with him several days ago was crying, tears trekking down her dirty, pale blue cheeks. He should've taken her up on the offer, should've at least kissed her. Damn it.

The hunter leaned forward, then. She was so intent and determined. She repeated, "His name is Torian. Where is he?"

He breathed out, tired, feeling like he was falling asleep. "Haven't seen any Mandalorians. But we suffered a series of sniper attacks during the last week. Three of my men were killed, including two of my younger officers. Good men, damn you! I sent out a team to catch the sniper; they went out two nights ago. Found their bodies on the edge of the fields, just to the east." He coughed, feeling blood against the back of his throat. He jerked his gaze back to her face, snarling his last words, "If he went east, he's finished. That area is teeming with Rakghouls, crazed monsters that rip a man to shreds! But we didn't do anything to him, I swear! Now, let these people go."

Kastiel stood up, her dark eyes cold and hard as she waved her hand through the air, "Not interested in bothering a bunch of people who won’t fight for their lives, even. Let alone their homes. I'm done here." She spun around, stalking away from the bleeding figure. Gault glanced back one time as he ambled behind her, watched as a small twi'lek rushed forward to catch the dying man's head against her lap. She held onto him. But Kas just walked away, heading east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more Mandoa:
> 
> darjetii - Sith  
> ad - child or son or daughter  
> beskad - slightly curved saber made of Mandalorian iron


	56. Men!

Mako stared up at the holographic image. Kastiel called him her “baby” brother, and when he when he was on the holo, looking down at Mako with that pugnacious twist to his mouth – well then, Mako totally understood why. She didn’t figure Gaibriel would appreciate the joke quite so much, though. "Don't know what you want me to say, Gaib. She's a bounty hunter. It's a simple fact, that hunters rack up enemies as they go about their work."

Gaib shook his head. Just enough to ruffle the edge of his bangs that hung down over the front of his head as he frowned, "Enemies is one thing, Mako. But now there's rumors the Jedi Council is considering action against her. What the hell made you guys go off and kill a Jedi Master and then blow up the Republic ship he was on?"

She only shrugged one slim shoulder, "If it helps, he managed to knock her on her ass before she shot him full of holes. Literally threw her across the length of that ship’s bridge! First time I’ve ever seen her caught by surprise. What's the odds that will make those Jedi guys feel better?"

"Flaming hells! This isn't a joke, Mako."

Mako scowled up at him, mutinously: "Fine, then. Bottom line, we don't work for the Republic. We had a job, the specifics of which included that particular Jedi Master dead on the floor – they even specified it had to be a blaster that finished him, mind you -- and the ship he was on destroyed, to boot. And hey Kas held to the precise letter of the task … she even communicated her intentions to the crew so they'd be able to evacuate before the ship blew up. What’re they going to do about it now, chase us into Imperial space?"

"Who hired you for the job? Maybe if the buyers' identity was exposed …"

Mako's breath exploded out of her with a bitter expletive, "Now who's joking, here? Look, maybe you don't know how this works, but going around publicly exposing your clients is a surefire way to ensure you don't get anymore clients. Do you go airing the dirty laundry of the people you do business with, Oh-great-Smuggler-Captain Gabriel Duncan? Hell, do you even go around airing your own dirty laundry? Where did you come up with the name Duncan, anyway? Ashamed of your _real_ daddy?"

"Shut up, Mako! Damn it!"

She pursed her lips into a cool, easy smile. "My point's made, though, isn't it? We all have secrets, things that can't be discussed, not publicly and not ever. Not like she goes telling too many of the people she works with about you, for instance. You think _you_ have it tough, with a sister doing bounty work with scruffy clients of nebulous origin? Not too many of them would be happy with Kas if they knew how often her little brother visited Coruscant, either."

Gaibriel shook his dark head, looking so worried all of a sudden. Almost scared. Mako realized there was real concern driving at him, eating at him like a terrible thing. Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened to him during those years Kas lost him. Where did he go, how did he make do, how did he eat, even? It wasn't something he discussed, at least not with her. Kastiel looked … scary whenever the subject came up, and Mako stopped asking her. Corso just told her, "Not sure how the captain made it through in one piece, honestly. But it was bad, Mako. It was _bad_."

Mako shook herself, now, as she looked up at Gaibriel's holoimage, "What's the matter? Talk to me. Something's got you all wound up."

Gaib sighed heavily, "Not something I can really put my finger on. More of a feeling, really.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, like he was trying to ease some hidden tension, “There's been some fingers poking around, some whispered conversations. Some people are asking questions, trying to find out who did what to the Aurora, and why. Wasn’t weird questions, considering Kas’ business. So I didn’t pay it much mind, really. Except it’s just … bothering me." He looked  pensive, thinking. Like he was brooding over a sore tooth, maybe. Then she heard him mumble, "Why can't anything be easy? Just once!"

Mako grinned,"You two are a lot alike, you know. Look alike, too. Especially when you're worrying about each other. Although you could be a mirror copy of Khyriel. Only your eyes are different." She cocked her head as she looked at him, examined the blue of his eyes. They were so brilliant, twinkling like the deep powder blue of a planet’s ocean, maybe. "Makes me wish I knew what your father looked like."

Gaib frowned, thinking of his brother and the Sith sister that Kastiel described as they both watched Khyriel back on Nar Shaddaa. Kastiel told him she was more familiar with Khyriel than their sister. Lusiel is Sith, she said. Kastiel was blunt about it, “No one really understands the Sith. Sometimes I think even the Sith don't understand the Sith."

Gaibriel shrugged at Mako, "I have my mother's eyes. I was the only one, too. Kas said even Lusiel has eyes like our father. Da used to say it made me ‘distinctive’. I thought it was like a joke when I was little. Now I think he just liked my mother that much." He rolled his shoulders in a thoughtful pose. Thinking of Lusiel made him think of the Force, and how it ran through their blood. They even had an uncle who could manipulate the Force. But the Force was a hard thing for him to wrap his mind around, so he stopped trying. "Mako, I just have a real bad feeling, is all. Where's Kas? Why isn't she with you?"

Mako shrugged, "Why do men always want to act all over-protective? Gault's with her, mind you. They're hunting. Trust me, he's a damned good shot."

Gaib narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, watched her casually brush some nonexistent lint off of her shoulder. "She's taken on a target _now_? You know, I'm starting to wonder if it's not just eye color we inherited from our parents. Did Kas ever tell you our father helped sack Coruscant? Reckless, I'm telling you."

"Kas isn't reckless." He just stared at her. Mako finally shrugged, "Well … not _too_ reckless. There's other Mandalorians down there, anyway."

" _Other_ Mandalorians?"

Mako smiled wickedly, "Yea, Kas was adopted by the Mandalore himself. There was this big party, and everything. Hey, you should see Mandalorians drunk at least once in your life. _That_ is a total adventure, believe me. I'm surprised I made it out of there in one piece."

* * *

 

Torian grunted softly as he climbed into the higher reaches of the tree, pulling himself hand-over-hand towards the dew collector. The slender length of fibra-rope rasped along his gloved fingers, as he worked his way up the tree towards the machine. It was perched solidly against one thick branch, with three, with three separate cables securing it in place.

From below, it didn’t look like anything but a piece of rubbish fallen down from one of the wrecked buildings leaning so precariously above the expanse. But it was deliberately placed high above the ground, to keep it from the reach of the maddened beasts that prowled underneath. Torian examined several of the collectors, maneuvering steadily in a neat circle around the transport station.

Now he yanked himself up towards this one, securing himself to the tree before leaning over to examine the machine’s components. It was obviously put together using scraps from the piles of rubble and devastated wrecks which scattered the area. The faded markings describing an advert on the side of what was likely some old vending machine looked brown and sad under a dusty rim. Torian looked inside, gauging the depth of the clean, potable water pooling there. If only to better determine when the traitor would come looking for it.

He sighed as he spied the glittering surface of water, so low in the container. It would be weeks at least, before Jicoln came here. All the machines were the same. Jicoln must have resupplied his water only recently. Torian scanned past the dew collector, towards the transport station itself. He lowered a canteen deep into the collector, gathering his own supply of water while he sat there considering the station.

A large group of rakghouls was milling about just outside the entrance. Not for the first time, Torian wondered why the things didn't fight and attack each other as much as they ripped against any creature that came close to them. It implied a level of cohesion that wasn’t comfortable to think about, really. Especially if there were so many of the monsters just outside. There had to be many more gathered in the dark tunnels past the entrance, too. But Torian hadn’t managed to discover another way inside, either.

The traitor had to know of another way. He wouldn’t have placed the dew collectors here if it meant fighting through so many rakghouls just to retrieve drinking water. He’d count on the rakghouls to deter eager hunters from getting too close, at the same time.

But Torian was determined enough to fight through the creatures, if it meant getting to Jicoln before long. That wasn’t something Jicoln would have planned for, or counted on. That anyone would have gall enough to do it. That every bit of Torian’s future depended on him getting past those teeming monsters, so he could finally end it. It was what his mother wanted, what she swore to Mandalore.

Now it was what Torian wanted, too. More than he wanted his people’s respect, more than he wanted his name to mean something good again. He wanted to be able to give that much to her. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted _anything_.

Torian snorted softly as he contemplated the materials he would need to gather before he could get past the rakghouls into the station. He loosened the rope tied around his waist as he prepared to descend from his position high in the tree, looking down towards the ground. And that's when he saw only a flash, a glinting reflection off something metallic from the underbrush nearby.

Torian drew in a small breath, leaning low to try and catch sight of whoever it was that was moving below him along the ground. More of the stupid Republic soldiers probably, he thought derisively. The deaths of the last team they sent hadn't proven deterrent enough, it seemed. He inched his fingers down, towards the handle of his blade as he watched, scanning through narrowed eyes. He leaned further downward as he tried to see better.

Then he caught sight of the man's red skin, a flash of white teeth in a grinning face. Oh, and the horns that screamed out Devaronian, of course. One of the Devaronian’s horns was cracked and broken off low and near his skull, with jagged edges he was right then rubbing against nervously.

Torian breathed in slowly to prevent himself from gasping. His golden eyes darted back and forth, looking for her. Where was she? Because Gault Rennow wouldn't be far from the object of so many of Torian's fantasies these past weeks. He thought of the way she looked, sounded and moved, imagining the curl of her smile and the way her eyes warmed when he touched her. And Torian huffed softly, trying to keep as still and silent as possible against the tree.

Gault bantered, "You know, with our luck, some ugly Rakghoul-y thing will come bursting out of the woodline to try and chew my face off." Gault was looking down towards the ground in front of him, so he never saw Torian perched in the branches of the tree up above them. “I mean, it’s going to be dark soon. I know why you're intent enough that we're still out here mucking around in the dirt. But seriously, Kas. We should find safe shelter soon."

"He's nearby," Kastiel stood up then, and Torian's breath caught. Her black hair drifted against her jaw, neatly obscuring the implants tucked in her ears that allowed her to hear. He remembered how the blood streamed from those ears, the way she clutched at them and bit her lip raw to keep from crying even harder when it hurt so much. Torian wanted to tuck her hair behind those ears, pull the lobes between his teeth and suckle at them, give her memories of pleasure to replace the pain.

Kas was looking around, her dark eyes scanning the area carefully. She breathed in, slow and methodical. Like she was trying to find something by scent. But it was more a reaching out with every one of her senses, trying to find him. She could just _feel_ him nearby. But where?

"Well, then. Maybe something Rakghoul-y will chew _his_ face off, instead. I know I'd be happier that way," Gault chuckled softly.

Kastiel glanced back at him and smiled so wryly, "As if your face doesn't need some improving, Gault. Would certainly match the broken-horn look you have going, at least."

"Hey, no need to get personal, now. You know you appreciate my manly good looks." He just smiled, totally unbothered by Kastiel's derisive snort, "Well. You might pretend to, at least. Come on, Kas! Throw me a bone!"

Kastiel regarded him, then, sliding her gaze up and down his frame. She eventually shook her head. She shrugged, "Okay, then. You’re a good shot. That much I’ll grant you."

Gault harrumphed, "What’s that got to do with my damned-good looks, huh? Like all you can go on is the blaster bolts I can lay across someone’s ass. I’d rather brag over my dashing brow, or twinkling eyes. But what do you give me? Nothing, nada, zilch! You, girl, are impossible!"

"Hah, you know you love me. Don't lie."

"But you don't love me _back_ , Kas. No, you just leave me bereft, pining from my unrequited adoration of your charms."

"Charms, my ass," Kastiel snorted a chuckle as she went back to perusing the ground in front of her. Gault sighed as he stepped closer behind her, still wondering what could possibly be discerned from looking so intently at the dirt.

"Just because you don't recognize your quite magnificent assets, Kas, doesn't mean the rest of us are that blind. You’ve got the most incredible curvy breasts …” Gault held his hands out and moved them in a curving motion through the air. Kas scowled dramatically over her shoulder at him.

"Touch me and you lose a finger, Gault. I mean it." The seriousness of the threat was lost in Kastiel's amused tone, so he knew she was laughing at him. He sighed loudly, clutching against his chest with a flourish as he pretended he was so devastated, "Oh damn! You shot me down once again! I'm beginning to think it was better when it really was my butt you aimed at. At least then it was obvious you noticed it!"

Above them, Torian slowly blinked. His eyes gleamed with warm satisfaction and a lazy smile eased across his lips. Definitely not lovers, then. She regarded the devaronian like he might Corridan or Dev, maybe. Easier, then, to garner her attention for himself. Since he didn’t have to shake it loose from Gault Rennow, at least. And easier to work with the man since he knew Gault never touched her like that. Torian enjoyed another thrill of prideful desire, a completely heady sense of masculine possessiveness that etched along the nerve endings of his spine.

Kastiel bent down suddenly, considering the base of a nearby tree so that the curves of her buttocks stretched the fabric of her trousers tautly, and Torian hardened into stiff readiness. Torian bit his lip to keep from groaning, mentally castigating his body for its lack of control.

"Someone's cut into this tree, Gault."

Torian's attention snapped back towards the pair below, and he frowned. It wasn't only dew collectors the traitor had set around the area. He eased himself around the trunk of the tree where he had stayed balanced, reaching towards a lower branch with one booted foot as he slowly climbed down from his perch. He reached the ground as silently as he could.

It wasn’t enough, though. Kastiel’s head shot up as she looked around, flitting her gaze around her. Torian smiled slowly as he noted the sharpness of her senses, regardless of her handicap. She knew she was being hunted now. " _Gar mesh'la_ ," Torian thought, moving slowly so that he didn't disturb the brush. Kastiel swung her attention back and forth, trying to find him. But she only managed to spy a single gray cable set against a tree and tied into place. It was almost completely obscured by leaves and foliage, except that Kas was so intentfully looking.

Kastiel spun, reaching out to grab Gault's arm. But he was already stepping into the ring that set off the alarms. The cable snapped in a hard, explosive motion, catching Gault smoothly over his ankles and snatching him off his feet. Gault yelped out a shocked cry, startled as his body was swept up and suspended precariously high up in the air. Both his rifle and his pack slid off his back to land with a dull thud onto the mushy soil underneath his dangling, horned head.

Kastiel stopped. She stared at the devaronian as he lobbed up and down, jerking spasmodically whenever he tried reaching up towards his legs to free himself. But the only blade he possessed was now lying on the ground. He kept reaching futilely for the thing, his fingers scratching uselessly through the air and causing him to swing back and forth like some sort of crazy pendulum. Kastiel barked a laughing sound, before biting her lip to keep from venting her amusement full bore.

"Dammit, Kas! This isn't funny!" Gault grumbled towards the bounty hunter, still swinging to and fro as the taut cable kept him secured to the branch of the tree.

"Yea? Well, from where I'm standing, it's hilarious."

"Fucking Mandalorians! All of you! I'm going to find the fucker who put this stupid rope in this stupid tree on this stupid, crazy planet! I swear it! Sorry, Kas. But he's going to die!"

"Wasn't Torian," Kastiel peered up towards the branch where the cable was secured. She smiled at the ease of the target. "That mark was made weeks ago. Although I'm surprised the trap has gone so long without being set off. Only you would be that damn lucky. You know what this moment needs?"

"A knife? Kas, hand me the knife so I can cut myself loose."

"A monkey-lizard! I can just picture Quinnie standing up there on that branch right now. That would just make this moment priceless!"

Gault spun around in a lazy circle, glaring at her as he bobbed there. He bit out, "I hate you, Kastiel Lok. I mean it."

Kas just grinned back at him, wicked humor dancing in her brown eyes as she reached out to grasp the belt looped around his hips, "Now, Gault. That's just mean! Just moments ago you were swearing love of me, too. And here you are, hurting my feelings." She smiled toothily at him just before swinging him around, sending him spinning crazily in place, like a top. He snarled at her the most wild, dire threats, complete with, "Dammit, I have access to your food, too! I’ll burn it all!"

Kas froze suddenly, ignoring Gault's angry yelps. Instead, she canted her head to concentrate on the step of the Mandalorian just behind her. She shivered delicately at the energy his approach encouraged, the excitement that settled low in her stomach. She smiled softly, not looking behind her even when Gault hissed a warning from where he watched the Mando stalk towards them, muttering, "This shit just keeps getting better, geez."

"Got closer than I thought I would," Torian admitted, sounding oddly disappointed. Kastiel glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling coyly. He blinked back at her, his eyes looking like nothing as much as liquid gold to her. Like they were melted down and set into his face. She was so aware of him, that the quick motion of his gaze sweeping down her backside didn’t escape her notice. Kas _liked_ his interest.

She dropped her voice into a sultry drawl, hoping to keep his focus on whatever Gault called her assets. Kastiel wasn’t so proud of her scarred face. But she did know that men seemed to appreciate her body’s shape. So she deliberately swung her hips softly, invitingly spinning around to face Torian, “Dang. And here I thought we’d made such a good connection back on Dromund Kaas. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

Torian’s eyes widened as he choked out, "What …?" For just a small moment, Kastiel delighted in the surprise etched on his features, and then she pounced. She liked Torian. Hell, she more than liked him, she knew that. But damn it. It didn't mean she had to lose in any sort of game with him, either.

She sprung forward, gripping his arm hard even as she leaned her hip against his own. She spun against him, flipping him in a smooth arch of motion up and over her side. He groaned when he hit the ground, hard, gasping as the breath was knocked from his belly. She placed one hard boot in the center of his chest then, smirking down at him over the long length of her blaster as he grunted painfully. Kastiel murmured, "Men. You should work on that. You know, not letting some bit of pretty ass fool you."

Gault chuckled from his pitiful position suddenly, "I’m suddenly thinking my own position in this little drama isn’t really so bad. I can just hang here and watch the show."

Torian just looked up at her, watching her as he brought his breathing back under control. He shifted under the weight of her foot, his eyes glittering with desire as he moved his gaze across her face. She frowned, her lips parting gently as they both froze there and stared at each other, both wondering what the other was thinking. He groaned suddenly, watching as Kastiel's small pink tongue smoothed itself between her lips. Then he shook himself, looking sheepishly up at her.

"Ouch. You hurt my pride, Champion. Only because you're right. I deserved that," Torian said. He rolled out from underneath her boot, accepting the hand she held out towards him as he climbed back to his feet. She started to pull back from him then but stopped when he gripped her fingers tight enough to pull her closer, molding her hand with sweeping motions of his fingers, feeling the shape of her delicate bones, and wondering at the skill and strength she demonstrated with them. They froze all over again, standing there looking into each other's eyes. She marveled at the molten look he gave her, the way he watched her. He just drank her in, breathing softly.

Gault suddenly drawled impatiently, "Yea, well. Pardon the intrusion, here. But can one of you Mandalorians get me the fuck down, now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gar mesh'la means "You're beautiful". 
> 
> I do love this scene, since it includes my absolute favorite flirt in the entire game. Fingers crossed you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it, hehe.


	57. Just One Dead Rakghoul

Torian startled awake, his eyes flying open as he looked across the length of the enclosure towards the spot where Kastiel was leaning earlier in the night. She was sleeping now, looking stunned almost. Like she'd taken a blow to the jaw that knocked her out cold. He frowned at her, confused how she looked so … afraid even in her sleep. Then he glanced around.

The broken edges of an immense concrete wall loomed sullenly into the dark sky behind the ruined curves of the transport where they had taken shelter. It was Gault fiddling with the heating device plunked in the center of the space that awakened him, he realized. The devaronian grunted softly when he noticed Torian watching him.

"Keep quiet, kid. She passed out, finally," Gault inclined his chin towards Kastiel's unconscious form. He set the heater back down finally before easing himself back to rest against the transport's wall next to the dark-haired woman again. Kastiel grumbled sleepily as she twisted around until she was leaning up against the wall on her side, moving restlessly until her forehead rested against Gault's shoulder. Torian frowned over the motion, so that Gault chuckled with sardonic amusement.

Torian looked away, ignoring Gault. He looked out the front of the transport through the broken edges of plastic-glass, there. He could see stars against the backdrop of black sky, along with the shadows of trees and bushes. But nothing living moved out there, no threat approached. So they remained relatively secure. Or at least as secure as anyone could be on such a ravaged mess of a world as Taris.

"She doesn't sleep well, see."

Torian looked back at the devaronian, frowning even more. Gault was carefully breaking down his rifle into its smaller parts, cleaning the weapon. Torian approved of the man’s care of his tools. But even more, that he kept his motions brief to keep from disturbing whatever rest Kastiel could manage as he kept watch over the campsite.

Torian turned his gaze to Kastiel, noting the constant lines between her eyebrows. She was dreaming. But it wasn’t a good thing, and she twitched every so often, softly shaking almost constantly. She was tense and scared even in the midst of her sleep, and it bothered him. Torian just bent his head, and he watched her. Like his gaze alone might soothe whatever was chasing her through her dreams.

Gault sighed, slowly maneuvering Kastiel's sleeping form until she was lying down rather than sitting propped against the wall where she'd basically lost consciousness. As Torian watched, he realized the motions were familiar to Gault, as if what he was doing was a normal task, this effort to make the bounty hunter comfortable enough to truly rest. Like she always slept so tensely that her body literally had to cease functioning before she could rest. He didn't like it, any of it, and he grit his teeth as he sat there.

Torian shot Gault a questioning glance. Gault shrugged as he started putting his rifle back together, "She has nightmares. Bad enough she just avoids sleeping. Last time I know for sure that she slept was a couple days ago, and that was just a cat nap of sorts on the shuttle ride down to planet. The stupid pirate on the shuttle startled her awake, though. Then she took off out here looking for you. Hasn't slept since."

Torian turned his brown eyes back to her, whispering, "Nightmares?"

"You tell me." Gault glanced down at Kastiel's head where it rested on his knee now, feeling her shivering against him, "She'll shake, cry out some. It's all very quiet, mind you, like she's hiccupping violently, basically. Then she flails around, like she's trapped somewhere scary and just fighting like hells to get out, but can't. It's painful as shit to watch."

"Trapped …" Torian scooted closer, his eyes frozen on Kastiel's face as his mind burned with the memory -- the bloody, ruined body of the woman curled over the small precious form of her child, while her blood spilled down red and wet to cover her. And the girl who fought so hard to live, to get out -- to _breathe_.

"Yea. I figured you'd understand." Gault carefully lifted Kastiel's head up, holding her as he motioned towards the Mandalorian. Torian frowned, confused for a moment.

But then he scuttled hurriedly across the space, avoiding the heater as he settled into the spot Gault was slowly moving away from. He sighed when the Devaronian lowered Kas' head back down, until she lay with her cheek pressed against Torian's thigh, her breath leaving a trail of soft moistness along his leg armor. Torian brushed her hair back from her temple, exposing the glint from the implants under her eyes. He hummed a soft, brief sound, then, as a feeling of the most complete contentment warmed his entire frame.

Torian glanced across the enclosure at Gault, who was sitting down closer to the heater as he finished wiping over the stock of his rifle. Torian didn’t move his hand from where it rested gently along the scars etched onto Kastiel’s neck. Like he was afraid she might disappear if he stopped touching her. He murmured curiously, "Why?"

Gault glanced up, and pinned the blonde-haired Mandalorian under a hard, serious gaze. Like he was a stern, unforgiving father of some sort. Hardly the joking figure he typically presented, and barely speaking above a whispered breath. Gault looked down just briefly at the sleeping hunter, and he told Torian, "Eventually she jumps awake, all frantic and fucking terrified. She tries grabbing on to something. Or someone. But then she realizes it’s not there, that’s she’s all alone. And your heart breaks watching that look creep into her eyes. So … I want her to be able to find you this time, Mando."

* * *

 Lieutenant Pierce growled at the sweetly curved bounty hunter.

Hell, her nice shape was partly why he growled. He had never encountered a bounty hunter shaped quite so damn well, in fact. Even the armor didn’t work to hide how her hips flared out in feminine perfection from her flat belly and pertly round breasts. Pierce wanted to scream as he felt his body tighten with excitement over yet another female in as many days that he wasn’t going to be able to lay a finger on. It was like the actual fates were laughing their asses off at him right now.

Add in the fact this particular female was making his job even harder, by going off to kill the stupid Republic soldiers he was trying to chase back to their hidey-hole, and Pierce's mood was practically pissy. No chance of that now, Pierce thought, looking around at the ring of dead troopers that littered the marshy soil around the cesspool of a lake.

Not that his effort at intimidating her seemed to be working, either. She just cocked one slim, black eyebrow in his direction, staring back at him with what he sensed was real amusement. He was only grateful she didn't laugh outright at him. Pierce wasn't sure he could've tolerated one fucking giggle at this point, honestly. He had a Sith to please, anyway, and that task was proving more of a headache than he thought originally.

Exciting as hell, though.

"You're only looking to haul off a dead Rakghoul? Seriously? What's so important, that you need a dead Rakghoul?" Pierce rumbled the query. Like it might make some kind of difference if he used a decent-enough tone. It didn’t, of course.

She only shrugged, "And … You’re out here following a bunch of Republic goons around. What's so important, that you have to know where these guys were headed?" Pierce narrowed his eyes angrily when she so neatly evaded his demand for information. Her dark eyes glinted with real amusement this time – hell, even her pretty, pouty lips twitched. Pierce wanted to scream.

He took a step forward, so that he loomed over her smaller frame. He deliberately used his size and fierceness to threaten her, growling, “You fucking Mandalorians work for the Empire out here. You’ll answer with respect, damn it.” Her amusement vanished abruptly, so that her eyes went dark and frightening. And Pierce knew he’d just stepped into the biggest, deepest end of the pool and was floundering in a drowning mess right then. A part of him started trilling shrill sounds inside his head, and it all sounded like, “Stupid, stupid, stupid Pierce.”

The hunter snarled at him, "Don't fuck with me, lieutenant. You know as well as I do there's another squad of troopers nearby. I'd wager they're with the same battalion as these sorry and dead bozos I managed to kill, here. Since finding that battalion's location is probably what you're out here to do, why don't you turn your fool ass around and get to it, hmmm?" Her eyes flashed at him, glittering with rageful intent, “Because if you stay here, I’m going to bust your balls in half. Your choice.”

Figures. He would've been happy taking this hunter on during a bout of sweaty fun back at the barracks. Instead, he'd be lucky to walk away from this encounter with his butt intact. His pride was already in shreds. And the smirks from the other members of his team behind him, made that blatantly obvious. He glared at her, "What makes you think we're following anyone?"

"Oh? Are we going to argue over the dead rakghoul, then? Didn't realize you wanted one, too. Gault!" The hunter looked behind her, towards the Devaronian who was hurriedly packing the decomposing remains of the Rakghoul in question into a plastic body sack, "Give the lieutenant the corpse so he can haul it off. We'll go find another one. Hopefully there isn't _another_ squad of troopers waiting to jump us as soon as we find it."

Gault harrumphed loud enough his voice echoed over the puddling lake aside them, "Shit, are you joking? Please tell me you're joking, Kas. Do you know how gross it is to handle these things, sheesh!" Pierce gaped as the Devaronian began pulling the body sack towards him, stopping to dump it with a thud right at his feet. The horned-man waved his hand over the thing, in dramatic presentation. "Here you go, idiot sir. It's the truth, I'm fucking tired of carrying bodies around. So have at it!"

Pierce grumbled sourly, "I don't want or need a dead rakghoul."

The hunter tapped the soft tip of one finger against one of the blasters resting against her hips. The sound seemed to soothe her, he thought. She was growling now, damn it, "You, lieutenant, have the brains of a bantha. I was in a fairly good mood, mind you, even after looking for a rotting mess of a body. Hey, had a good night's sleep! But you're pushing your luck, I kid you not."

Pierce opened his mouth as if to argue further, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the look in her eyes that promised retribution if he said one more stupid thing to her. It could've been the devaronian, who had fallen back behind the hunter to grip his rifle with hard fingers. He realized suddenly that the hunter's directions had allowed the man to lose the burden of that dead Rakghoul in one smooth bit of motion, leaving the fellow free to maneuver into a good battle position.

But there was more, some sense he had all of a sudden. There was someone else nearby; he could feel it, almost taste the threat hanging in the air. Pierce trusted his senses, his gut. It had saved him far more times than not. And his instincts were screaming, that this hunter was strong and determined – because she damn well knew he would lose whatever hand he raised against her. Shit, whoever it was out there guarding the woman would rip him to pieces and gladly, that's how strongly the intent focused on him truly felt.

She leaned closer, her nose wrinkling with disgust at him. "You're lucky I don't have time to waste on a _di'kut_ like you. I suggest you hightail it while my patience is still intact. Before I change my mind, at least, and make you a new priority on my list of things to do."

The lieutenant proved how un-stupid he really was, Kastiel thought. Unfortunately. Since she was rather in the mood to shoot him by then. Sadly, he actually hightailed it.

* * *

 

Torian watched Kastiel study the twisted, mutated form of the rakghoul with a curious, studious expression. Every so often she'd loose a simple sigh, or twist her head over a new angle as she tried to see some different perspective of the thing. She looked over at him, one sweetly arched eyebrow raised up with curiosity, "What sort of tissue samples do you need, Torian?"

He grunted as he knelt down next to her, sliding so smoothly into place it almost felt like her hip had a warm spot designed just for him. Like he belonged right there.

He shook himself, though, focusing on the task at hand. Jicoln was a dangerous target. Torian was finding it easier to expose his own life to risk and threat, than to tolerate threats to hers. He scowled as he remembered the Imperial officer looming over her, thought yet again that he should have just shot the damn _ge'huutun's_ head from his shoulders. He'd settle in the meantime, though, for the chance to shield her from a few dozen rakghouls. All it took was some smelly, nasty work first.

"Here. We need the soft tissues. Lungs and stomach muscles are probably more liquid than anything, useless. See here? The heart and liver are still intact enough. Mushy though." Torian cut easily through the rotting flesh of the creature. Gault gagged suddenly, gasping some wordless sound of distress as he rushed away from where they were crouched down next to the rotting corpse. Kas shared a smirking grin with Torian as the unmistakable sounds of gagging sounded from around the edge of their brief shelter.

Then she looked back down at the body, frowning, "It was human once. Male. Tough enough. Possibly a pirate or some other scoundrel, come to Taris seeking fortune from the ruins. Damn fool."

"You've got a good eye. Gault said you're a _baar'ur_." He grunted softly when she looked at him with a confused expression, "A doctor, or medic. Learning _mando'a_ pretty fast, too."

She smiled, "You sound interested in teaching me. That Jogo fellow about threw a hissy fit when I asked."

Torian only shrugged, not really wishing to talk about Jogo. He took the opportunity to remove the Rakghoul's pancreas, the thing looking like nothing but a sorry bit of brown shit that he turned around to toss into a bowl. " _Mando'a_ is for those of the _mando'ad_ itself, not for _aruetii_. Outsiders, I mean. So how did you become a _baar'ur_?"

She studied him for a moment, the way he bent his head to his task, focused. She thought of what she wanted to say, the words that seemed to bubble there against her lips. " _I looked for you, after I woke up and couldn't find you. I was scared, when I realized the sound wasn't coming back and you had made me feel safe. And then you weren't there. I missed you, Torian._ " But she bit her lip, hard, almost broke the skin. But she managed to keep the words back. Better to speak of the practical, than to admit she fought madly to be as strong as he showed her that day.

"My father was an Imperial doctor, actually. Highly regarded. You probably saw him in the hospital, there. Tobie told me he spoke of you and the others that night, after he carried me to Tobie's clinic. Tobie was my teacher. The woman, though. Was she your mother? I always wondered." Her voice was wistful for a moment. He looked up at her, twitching his head to push back a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

"My _buir_ , yes. Aily was what she was called. She fought harder than any other woman I've ever known. Except for you."

"I fight as hard as I have to, is all.”

"You fight well. With honor. I _like_ to watch you fight."

He smiled as her creamy skin flushed pink, the blush sweeping down along the curves of her neck before disappearing under the edges of her armor. He wondered briefly how far down the blush would go; would it reach her breasts, circle her nipples, make them pucker into pretty, hard nubs he could roll against his tongue. He sucked in a breath suddenly, almost hissing. And then he regretted it, coughing briefly as the stench of the Rakghoul suddenly filled his nostrils again.

Kastiel shifted alongside him, trying to ease the warm ache between her legs, feeling uncertain and off balance. She watched as his coughs tapered off and he went back to working over the cadaver. His blonde head was tilted forward, so that his chin nudged against the upper part of his armored chest. She sniffed, remembering to breathe out as she watched the cords in his neck twisting while he looked down and around at the different organs. "What happened to her? To Aily?"

Torian paused, closing his eyes briefly. He spoke quietly, " _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_." She only watched him. He turned his head to look at her, let his gaze slide across her face. Kastiel was one of the last incredible things his mother had done, had given to him – in Kas, he saw his mother's bravery and tenacity reflected. "It means, _not gone, merely marching far away_. We speak the words to remember. Aily came here, to Taris. She hunted Jicoln."

He watched her eyes darken until they looked almost black. Like looking into the depths of that cave back on Dromund Kaas, he thought. Deep, plunging down, into scary places where fears and terrors battled. Learning your hero died, lost … what did that do, he wondered. Kas murmured, then, "She died alone?"

"Unless Jicoln stayed with her."

"Do you think he did?"

Torian frowned, thinking of the stories Korwis had told him of Jicoln, of his fights and his hunts. And of the man's appreciation for his wife, their love. Jicoln's dishonor wouldn't have changed that, he didn't think. "I don't know. _I_ would have, if the fight was mine and she was my wife. But I don't like to think I'm anything like him, either. They were both strong, though."

Kastiel frowned, "Why did Aily hunt him? Was she angry?"

"Yes. But she loved him, too." Torian stopped, trying to explain a concept so much alien to someone born in the Empire and only now taking her very first steps into the Mando'ad. He leaned his head closer to hers, "Jicoln was wrong. He believed in his fight but he failed to make it right. To make it work. When he did that, it ruined us all. Until he's gone and the Mandalore recognizes it, our clan is broken."

Kastiel was quiet as he finished his work, thinking of honor. The difference between her father's honor. And her _buir's_. Mandalorian honor seemed more simple and more complex, all at the same time. But like all rules and ways to live your life, it demanded a lot of those who cherished it, fought for it. She scanned the trees over her head, thinking of Aily's fight and the anger and determination that drove her to come to this world. To fight so hard for her son to have that much a future. And to lose. She suddenly knew that Aily died well, looking at her husband and knowing the fight was a good one. That it was right.

She looked over at Torian, watching him clean himself carefully. He sealed the container holding the paste that he made, grunting softly with satisfaction that the work was done. Kas murmured, "Torian?"

He turned his head, seeming to drink her in. He'd remained deeply aware of her, of every motion she made, every breath. It thrummed in him as she moved about, as she spoke. Or when she just sat there, even. It was like a vivid, unceasing energy that simply persisted. A deep, rich feeling of her that simply remained constant, steady. She was _there_ , and he knew it, reveled in it.

"Torian, he won't kill you like that. I promise. We'll win, here. We'll make it so that no one ever calls you _aru'tal_ again."

Torian's eyes gleamed back at her. Warm, honey-glazed eyes. He cocked his head to the side as he took in her promise of battle and victory, feeling her and her complete determination, the heady sense of commitment in the promise she offered to him.

The satisfaction of it slid through him, like something solid and intense. If there'd ever been a time he doubted it, that moment – when she stood by him in incredible defiance of every single mocking gesture he endured over the years, had come after him even knowing, understanding what so many of them thought and said about him, like she didn't care about any of that as much as she did _him_ … Looking at her right then was when he first called her _cyare_.


	58. A Gray Haze

Jicoln Cadera looked across the expanse of grass and ruin, through the daylight streaming into the station from the collapsed roof overhead, watching as the warriors there battled against a rather tenacious group of Rakghouls. They were magnificent, the two that he could see. Even if both of them were younger than anyone who'd ever chased after him across the Taris wilds.

He growled under his breath as he watched them. The lean figure of the man tensed against the ebony-haired woman's back just before he yanked her away from the snapping jaws of a rather large and tenacious rakghoul, his electrostaff swinging out to bash against the creature's head. Brains and gore spun out in an arc along the ground while the thing's final squeals pealed through the air.

The two of them fought well together, their motions almost synchronized and rhythmic. They each worked to guard the other, and the rakghouls fell down in front of them as if they were scything wheat in a field. Tenacious skill and utterly beautiful to watch, Jicoln thought. They would easily survive the fight.

No, the rakghouls wouldn't kill them. That burden would fall to him, rather.

He felt tired suddenly. Ached with it, even as he turned to rush down the smaller tunnel. The one that bypassed the main entrance to the station. Damn him, damn Artus to the depths of the Corellian Hell or the agonies of the Sith Chaos, their Void! Anything, so long as he suffered! How much would that _ge'hutuun_ ask of him, how many lives would he expend on this cesspool of a world for his revenge? Had he not given enough already? Hadn’t he sacrificed enough to salve Artus' wounded pride?

Now Artus was sending their youngest, newest warriors, the ones bright and eager to prove themselves against the will and might of this world and his own weapons. Sending them to die here like so many others.

Jicoln paused, gulping against the bile that rose in his throat. He glanced up towards the blue sky above, the sunlight blaring down over the landscape.

There was nothing left. It was all gone. He'd known it as soon as his eyes flew open there in that dark alcove of a room far away on the world of Sulust where the last of his warriors had fled carrying him, binding his wounds. He'd looked around at the last of his broken men, their heads hanging down, and he'd understood the bitter agony of defeat for the first time. Known that Artus would do as he'd promised; that he'd make the entire _aliit_ pay, every Cadera all the way down to their smallest.

 _"Damn you, Jicoln! You're_ aruetii _– no, you're_ dar'manda _for this -- and everyone you've ever cherished will pay for it! Everyone! I'll rip your boy from his mother's breast for what you've done, here! Damn you!"_

 _Torian_. The name of his son slid along the tender nerves of his memory, the images screamed through his mind - his tiny head held up in Aily's hands so that he could see him, the little body he reached out to pick up, the way he fit that tiny form in the snug curve of his arm, the sound of his first cry, his first laugh. Jicoln had thought there was nothing more painful than that moment, when he woke up on Sulust certain that his son was dead, that Artus had done as he promised and destroyed that tiny, precious creature.

That was what he thought. Until Aily herself came to Taris. The look in her eyes after she lost her helmet and he finally saw her face. When he knew who it was as she slumped there under the tree where he'd sent the bolt flying, watched it catch her, spinning her body back and to the ground – that look was one he'd never forgotten. Not ever.

How she looked at him so happy. That _she_ was dying instead of him. She even smiled, whispering his name from real pleasure over seeing him one last time.

He choked out, _"Why, Aily? Damn it, no! Why did you do this?"_

_"Worth it. Had to … fight. Nothing else left to do."_

_"You didn't have to do this."_

_"Yes, I did. Had to do it ... For Torian."_

She'd looked at him, then, and that was what he remembered, that sad, tired little smile she gave him as she died, with their son's name the last word on her lips. Followed him into death, Jicoln remembered. She had fought to avenge their son upon him, for failing him as badly as that, and she died for it.

Now he looked across the stretch of grass, rocks, and shattered buildings, all broken beyond repair. Nothing the Republic did would put things back together here, not with the Empire nipping at their heels to keep them hampered. This world was lost just the way he was lost, filled only with the most tired memories; of dreams and hopes long since set aside. He knew how Taris felt, how it mourned until the grief seemed almost a living thing. That lurked behind the glaring eyes of maddened monsters.

"Nothing else left to do," Jicoln murmured to himself, repeating Aily's dying words and remembering. Rubbing against the edge of his commlink for when those young warriors reached the holoterminal at the heart of the station.

He'd fight. And hard, because no one who came here in Artus' name deserved less than his most brutal effort. He'd destroy them both, and anyone else who fought with them, too. Because he had nothing else left, nothing else to fight for. Just another bit of proof that he was stronger than any warrior Artus sent after him; that he was better and more skilled. Just proof that Artus was nothing worth fighting for, fighting with, that all those who followed him were the fools and the failures.

And maybe for just a little while longer he'd have the only thing left worth living for anymore.

Oblivion.

* * *

 

Kastiel whimpered under the terrible onslaught of some agonizingly painful, high-pitched droning scream from a machine’s peeling whir. She only vaguely registered Torian's hands against her arms as she bent over in incredible distress. She thought he was calling to Gault, but she didn't comprehend any of the words he used.

Whatever was making the sound, they couldn’t hear it the way she did through her implants. And all she knew was how much it hurt. Like someone was drilling into her ears with fucking pikes.

The two men braced her between them though, so that she leaned against Torian's back while Gault took up a protective stance behind her, his back pressed against her as he raised up his rifle. They were shouting back and forth, trying to identify the threat, to know why she was nearly falling over from pain. Kas fumbled through her pack, reaching for the device she used to monitor and control her implants. Her fingers flew across the pad, familiar motions she'd made countless times over the years.

And everything went silent, the din falling utterly and totally still. For a moment, it felt to Kastiel like the world stopped moving. The relief was incredible.

She breathed in and out then, reaching out to touch Torian's shoulder. He looked over at her, his eyes wide with question. She mentally sighed, knowing she'd be difficult to understand, that she'd talk all wrong into the quiet, while she was unable to appropriately judge the tone and pitch of her voice. They'd laughed at her when she was still a child and trying to communicate through such jumbled, garbled sounds that broke the silent tenor of her world. She didn’t want Torian to see her as something broken or flawed like that.

So she blasted the words, quickly. They flew between them too loudly, sounding chopped and imperfect as he frowned at her. Kas almost shouted, "A trap. Tripped a beacon of some kind, crazy sound, high-pitched. Felt like it was slicing through my head. Hurt! Turned off my implants."

He inclined his head, leaning to the side to regard the swirl of her ears. She felt the rumble of his chest under her shoulder, knew he was talking to Gault. She lifted her blasters, tucking them into the palms of her hands as she prepared for the impending assault. Torian reached out to touch her ear softly, signaling his need to communicate. She glanced at him, watched his lips moving.

"Stay close! Don't want one of the things getting behind you, where you can't sense them. They're _dini'la_ , always. Insane, I mean. But worse now, if the sound is meant to draw them here." He was tense as he gripped his electrostaff tightly. She knew he was concerned about the handicap she faced, with the implants nonfunctioning. But there wasn't any time to smooth away his worry.

She only shook her head back at him, "Don't worry about me. Just fight, Torian."

Kastiel was deaf. She never really forgot that, and certainly didn't go into a fight without considering it. There were any number of weapons designed to incapacitate an opponent who relied upon implants, anyway. Hell, a mere buzz of sound had accomplished that today! Only a fool would be so dependent on his implants that he'd be unable to act, to work without them. And no one had ever called Kastiel a fool.

No, Kas practiced and practiced and practiced. So long and hard. Braden would cover her eyes, leaving her blind as well as deaf, just to show her, teach her: " _You have senses aside from hearing, Kas. Seeing, too, mind you. Reach out with your ability to touch, concentrate on the way things move and how it makes your skin feel. Focus on the way the air flows around a body as it rushes along. Or hell, just the damn energy of a person as they stand there all quiet and still, maybe_." She practiced for hours at a time, days upon days, until the ability was almost rote, so habitual that people said she glided rather than she walked, her sense of motion and touch as she moved around people and objects in her path was so seemless, so easy and simple.

It was a very particular skill and she drew upon it as she prepared, there. Kastiel only grunted softly, murmuring almost soundlessly as she felt the rakghouls thundering towards them. The ground rumbled under her feet, the vibrations subtle at first. But they came faster and harder the closer the beasts got to them. Kas panted, her blasters held up and ready. She focused on the nearby entrance to the wide open space so ruined it looked like the very ground was trying to devour the station back into itself.

"Almost here," she whispered, not knowing her voice came out like a brief puff of sound. Gault was stiff as he crouched down behind a nearby panel, just a piece of equipment broken neatly down the middle of the device by some large chunk of rocky debris from the roof above. He propped his rifle against the metallic edge of the metal, biting back some sarcastic comment as he waited for the rakghouls to stream into the place. Only because he knew Kastiel couldn't hear it and Torian wouldn't really appreciate it. Why waste a good laugh, he thought.

Torian's gaze was skimming the walls that surrounded them, looking for signs of where Jicoln would've placed the beacon. It would look natural, like something that belonged in the place. Camouflaged to blend in so simply the average hunter would never find it, just fall under the endlessly hungry jaws of the crazed monsters. A rather twisted bit of a trap and utterly effective.

He didn't bother biting back the angry growl that lingered in his throat, either. Because he knew Jicoln wouldn't have activated such a trap if he was still nearby. The traitor had fled already.

His keen eye caught the sign just as the first Rakghoul was bursting out of the darkness. But he saw it. The curved edge of a sound device tucked up against a rock that looked at first glance like a bit of broken trash. Except for the deliberate placing of ruined wires and other garbage. If not for the thick wire that extended out from the pile, that powered the device, even he would've probably overlooked the thing. He marked the spot there, leaping to the thing and breaking it with one swift sweep of his staff.

Torian turned to meet the onrushing rakghouls then, hoping to put himself between his hunter and the horde. Kastiel was moving, though. She fired her jetpack, using the momentum of the thing to rocket a punch into the face of the largest creature. It screamed a shrill, pained sound, as whatever was left of its nose crunched under the force Kastiel expended. She grabbed its head, spinning it around hard, so that its neck popped with a sickening loud crack, and then she stepped back as it fell dead at her feet.

Torian gasped, shouting at her as one particularly burly Rakghoul growled towards her back and lunged at her. Torian jumped towards Kastiel.

But Kastiel was already spinning on the heel of her boot, swinging around to rock the attacking ghoul with a hard punch to the side of its head. The blow was hard enough, shocking it so that it literally fell onto its side, its large arm lashing out in an attempt to catch its weight against the ground. Instead, the sound of breaking bone filled the air. Kastiel grinned as she saw bone protruding from the limb and stomped on it, breaking it still more, literally crushing the rakghoul's arm under her boot. It screamed until she shot it dead, the bolt flying from her blaster straight into its face.

For only a moment, Torian marveled at her, at the sheer perfection of her motions. She didn't hesitate, didn't even stop. She swung her arms up, her blasters held straight out as a volley of bolts spilled from the weapons. The arching wave of fire swept in front of her, dropping no less than six rakghouls as they rushed at her. They all collapsed, screaming shrilly as they died under the blazing hail of bolts from her weapons. Torian pressed himself close to her back, reaching out to grab against her shoulder as one large monster snapped its jaws towards her.

The crack of the thing's teeth was loud in the air. It shrieked angrily at them, its mouth gaping wide to show them long lines of cruel, sharp teeth. Torian leaned against Kastiel's back, shouting back at it as he lashed out with his staff, bringing the blunt edge of his weapon down across its thick, meaty skull. He smiled when the monster's brains splashed out against the ground at their feet. Kastiel made some small sound that was his name, and he shifted, feeling his legs pressing against the back of her thighs for just a moment.

Then she raised up her weapons one more time, firing a single last volley towards the twitching forms of several Rakghouls trying to raise themselves up from their slumped positions on the ground. He felt the force of the attack through her form, the pulsing rhythm of her weapons discharging. And he realized what senses she'd used to wage the battle, reveled in the tenacity of her skill and technique. His tension gradually eased, and he hummed against her back, reminding her of his presence, his determination.

"Yea, I can feel you. You feel so … hot. I mean, warm. As in your body temperature is warm. Or just ... Oh, forget it," Kas turned around to face him, her front only vaguely splattered with blood. She'd managed to kill most of the beasts from a distance. She could see Gault trotting up to join them, his lips moving as he complained about the effort, of course. She looked back at Torian, catching him smiling at her.

"You need me to distance myself?" He asked her, his lips twitching as he watched her.

"Not in a million years," she spoke quickly, then looked down, even more abashed. He smiled as she fumbled, looking away from him so that she could neatly avoid anything else he had to say. He could hear her mumbling to herself, though. He wondered if she even knew she was talking aloud. "Got to turn my damn implants back on. Find the door into Jicoln's stupid lair. And what sort of ass puts his camp in the middle of a Rakghoul nest, anyway?"

Gault stepped up next to to Torian as Kastiel bent over the controller, tapping at the thing. The devaronian shook his head, "Never seen her so off balance. Figures. We get within ten feet of you, so she looks into your googly-ass eyes, and she goes all girlie on me."

Torian glanced at him, "She's _worth_ watching."

Gault chuckled. "Hell yea she is. But she doesn't look back. Not anyone but you. Ever."

"Ever?"

"Ever," Gault repeated, dropping his voice low so that she wouldn't hear as her implants came back online. "You Mandalorians are a different breed. She grew up in a world where deafness is something bad, terrible, and the scars that made it are worth mocking. Men were cruel to her. She stopped looking at them a long time ago."

"Cruel ..." Torian frowned as he watched Kastiel come back to her feet, shaking her head as if to test the implants were working again. "How?"

Gault shook his head, “You ever seen recordings of that fucking little bastard Tarro Blood? He used to tell Kas her face looked chewed up. She never seemed to give it much notice; except I realized it was because she was just that used to it.” He looked at Kastiel sadly, watching as she moved back to join them again. Torian just clenched his fists, thinking how he would enjoy finding and beating into pieces anyone of the men who hurt _his_ hunter. Then the rest of what Gault shared hit him hard, so that his eyes were wide when Kastiel finally stopped there in front of them. She frowned at him, "What's wrong?"

"Ever?" He croaked, the single word sounding breathless. He was staring at her. She looked back at him, confused, even though she appreciated the glittering look in his eyes as his gaze moved down her frame slowly. She raised an eyebrow, questioning, "Ever what?"

Gault grinned as he interjected, "Yep. _Ever_."

She shrugged, dismissing whatever male bonding moment they had shared while she was lost in her grey haze of quiet. She pointed towards the doorway almost hidden against several piles of scavenged material, "I think that's the place. I get the feeling Jicoln's already run away. Let's find signs of where he might have headed off to."

Gault chuckled as he rested a hand against Torian's shoulder, pushing him mockingly after the bounty hunter as she turned to move towards the room where Jicoln had camped. Torian ignored him, though.

He followed along behind Kastiel, his mind spinning as he considered her. He rested his gaze on her hips, tough-looking with blasters hanging from her belt. But still curved deliciously above a sweet heart-shaped pair of buttocks. The kind of hips a man could hold without fear he'd harm her, could hang onto as he pushed and pulled her against him while she cradled his hardness inside of her.

And she hadn’t let anyone hold her like that. _Ever_ , he thought.

* * *

Kastiel arched an eyebrow as she looked up at the looming holoimage. She tried to find signs of Torian in the man, her gaze moving over his features quickly. He was bigger, at least. His son was lean and fit, well-muscled, almost deliciously shaped. Jicoln Cadera, though, was broad-shouldered; his chest was large and wide with bulging muscles. She didn't see anything of him that she would've attributed to Torian.

Until she looked into his eyes. Light brown, smoky-gold almost, and fervent, determined - those were Torian's eyes glaring down at her from that broad face. It was his eyes that marked him Torian's father, proved they shared the same blood. But Jicoln's were sheer - this was a haunted man, heart-sore, broken inside. So much regret, so much loss, all of it stewing in the midst of constant danger and conflict and surrounded by the wrecked hulls of a busted-up and decaying world.

Jicoln Cadera was bitter, angry, the sort of anger that lives in a man over many years. She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she considered him. _Time to end this, old man_ , she thought to herself.

"Artus has reduced himself to sending children after me, it seems. I'm not overly impressed by you, girl," Jicoln sneered at her.

Torian snarled back at him from his place behind Kastiel, "He's called Mandalore."

Jicoln's glare intensified. Kas could almost feel the waves of rage and anger coming from him, even over the distance that separated them. She imagined that if he could, he'd reach out to grapple them both to the ground in his raging upset, "I know what he calls himself now. But I was there. You? Call him whatever you see fit."

Kastiel lifted her chin. She blatantly and deliberately tossed out her challenge firmly, proudly, with her face lifted up and glaring, "I call him _buir_."

Jicoln froze, his gaze burning as he regarded her. Now there was calculation there, a vivid need to know if she was speaking truly. She waited, her own eyes looking back at him with simple ease, unconcerned. Behind her, Torian shifted and stepped closer. Jicoln glanced at him, noting the movement, "Is that so? Well then. That might make you worth something to me."

"So long as it's worth meeting face to face, Jicoln. Or have you been rotting here too long?"

"Be careful with your challenges, girl. You may be biting off more than you can chew."

"You're no challenge, Jicoln. Just a sad remnant of what you once were. Mandalore wants me to end this, that's all."

Jicoln scowled at her, "Your bravado will get you nowhere, not with me. Fine, then. The g _eroya be haran_ , here. I'll be waiting at these coordinates. Go there, and I will know you'll fight. Then I'll destroy Artus' _ad_. And it will be finished at last." She caught the sigh he gave towards the end, the satisfaction in that look he tossed at her as the holoimage disappeared intensely real.

Well then. She'd tossed a gauntlet towards the man. But she knew he'd take the bait and come out into the open for her to find. Because she sensed the hatred he felt for the Mandalore, the bitter depths of it. Once again she wondered what had driven such a warrior to betray everything important to a Mandalorian, to betray his honor so badly.

Then she looked over at Torian, at the stoic expression on his face as he watched the man everyone but him called his father. She sighed. Whatever impulse had lead Jicoln to self-ruin, the price had proved too high. She'd see to it that Torian no longer paid it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aruetii - traitor, foreigner, outsider.  
> dar'manda - not Mandalorian, not an outsider but someone who's lost his heritage or had it taken from him, so that he's lost his identity and his soul; an exile; pretty much the worst punishment imaginable by most Mandalorians.  
> ge'hutuun - bandit, villain, petty thief; can mean an especially terrible criminal you have no respect for; an abuser  
> dini'la - insane  
> buir - father, mother, parent  
> ad - son, daughter, child  
> geroya be haran - Mandalorian death game, very very rare. Invoked to settle matters of honor between two individuals. A fight to the death. Translated to "game of annihilation".


	59. Geroya be Haran

**_"... The_ ** **Alii'jate _, personal honors ..."_**

_Kastiel strained to see her father. She stood up as high as she could onto the very tips of her toes, swaying uneasily. But there were too many people milling around her, not seeing her little three year-old form there. They all crowded her until she stumbled backwards, barely catching herself before she actually fell down. She whimpered, afraid she would miss the sight of him._

_But then her mother was there, reaching down to pick her up and lift her until she could see over the shoulders of the people in front of them. Settled onto her mother's hip, Kas was finally able to catch sight of her very own Da._

_The spires of the monument to the Sith Lord Ergast reached up like three strong fingers pointing at the dark skies over Kaas City. It seemed to Kastiel almost like a hand was holding her father in its palm right there, and she gasped in a breath. He was wearing his uniform, of course – dark grey with black epaulets across his shoulders. Because he served one of the Sith, he told her. The gleam of the medallion the Moff placed around his neck was even brighter because of the dark colors everywhere around them._

_He looked out over the throng of crowds as the Moffs and the Lords droned on through endless speeches about courage and sacrifice. But Lucian only looked out at the people gathered there, his dark eyes searching every one of the faces. Until he found them._

_Kastiel hugged her little arms around her mother's neck as she watched her father give them the briefest smile, seeing them there. She could almost feel her father's pride, his satisfaction that they were nearby, that they'd seen the award offered to him. He pressed out his chest, so that the reflection of brief light from the afternoon sky could catch it and it sparkled like a star on his chest._

_Kas knew he was showing her deliberately. Showing her how hard he fought, that the stories he shared with her, whispered to her sometimes while she was falling asleep –so her mother couldn't hear, because she insisted Kas would be frightened by such things – that those stories were true and that her Da really was the hero of her dreams. He told her, "I'd give the medal to you if I could, my little Kas. You're my bravest girl, after all. No father could be prouder of his child than I am.”_

_And she hated Pela when she watched the woman trying to choke her brother with it. She stole it from under the table where it fell. The stupid bitch never even saw her._

* * *

Kastiel scanned the ruins with a searching gaze. Gault leaned up against a nearby wall, its stone edifice curving up out of the hard-packed soil. As if whatever building it had come from was actually being consumed by Taris itself. So many of the ruins looked like that, like the planet itself was actually swallowing them whole. Gault appeared unperturbed by their surroundings, just eyed her with curiosity. He shrugged towards her, "That Mando of yours is determined to kill his daddy. Makes me wonder bout him."

She grunted, "Seems to me Jicoln himself is a bit tired of the chase, too."

"So this is a mercy killing we're talking about?"

She looked over at the devaronian, her dark brown eyes looking like solid chocolate all of a sudden. He wondered as he looked at her, what sort of mother she'd be. She'd learned so early to be strong, brave, to sacrifice everything if need be, to give every ounce of her blood just to protect them. If that's what was required, anyway.

Hell, he thought with a small chuckle. Kastiel would teach her youngsters to be strong the way she was, stronger, even. They'd probably emerge into the world clutching blasters in each tiny hand, he imagined.

"What's so funny, Gault?"

"You're going to be a tough momma for your own children, aren't you, Kas?"

Her eyes darkened even further as she frowned, thinking of Tamerie. She looked away, frowning darkly as she remembered her mother yelling at the men when they lifted her off the ground to choke the breath out of her. She pulled her lip between her teeth, "That's what a mother does, right? She fights tooth and nail to keep her younglings safe. So no one can take them from her. Can't be strong enough, even."

"Hey," Gault reached out to grip Kastiel's elbow, so that she turned to look back at him. He only shrugged, grinning broadly at her so that his bright white teeth gleamed sharply in the dimming light of the afternoon. Working like normal to keep her laughing, "Your kids are going to be the toughest little shits this galaxy's ever seen, admit it! You wouldn't allow anything else, I just know it."

"My parents died fighting for us, Gault. Not sure I can measure up to that much."

Gault scoffed, “Pretty sure you would face down the biggest, baddest badass in the galaxy, and with your head held straight up – if you believed it would keep a tiny little Kastiel-miniature from being hurt. Still think it's weird to be out here preparing to kill the granddaddy of those little miniatures. Just saying."

Kastiel batted his shoulder with her own, shaking her head at him. She remembered suddenly, that last time her father leaned over her, as she lay there shattered, broken, and crying from the pain. How he ran one single finger down the unblemished side of her face. Kas knew even then it was the last time she would see him, knew he was saying goodbye to her. She didn't even have to hear the words he whispered against her cheek as he leaned over to kiss her one last time. She could _feel_ his grief and his sorrow, even through the aching quiet of her shattered eardrums. She only understood him.

That was the same feeling she had whenever she regarded Jicoln Cadera. It compelled her forward like it was a drumbeat standard. Like a marching rhythm making her go in a particular direction. She could hear Jicoln’s spirit singing out for goodbye and peace, like he was only tired and wished to go to sleep. It was like none of them could move forward, as if everything was stymied until the past was resolved, done and finished. And somewhere, somehow even Jicoln felt it.

The ending had come, the thing was done.  
She was just its witness.

Gault moved off away from Kastiel when her commlink suddenly began chirping, ducking down out of sight. She smiled briefly as Torian's image took shape, there. "Is it done, Torian? You find them?"

He nodded at her, "Is the traitor there?"

She frowned as she looked around once again, shaking her head, "No sign of him, actually. Just a marker at the coordinates he gave us." She heard him breathe in roughly, his concern aching through to her. He was certain the only way to beat Jicoln at this death game he'd asked for was that they separate, so he could scout for the four marks Jicoln left in place. But that depended on whatever was left of Jicoln's honor, too. It would be so easy to trick her into dropping her guard just long enough ...

Kastiel's head snapped up, her gaze flying unerringly through the sniper's scope towards Jicoln himself. He frowned at the ease with which she found him, saw him, and his hesitation was just enough. She was already leaping when he released a bolt from his rifle. The ping of the shot across the metallic edge of the flat surface that Jicoln had marked buzzed through the air. Gault was shouting, rushing towards the spot where Kastiel lay and pulling at her body until she was huddled next to him behind the broken stone of the nearby wall.

Kastiel fumbled for her commlink. She tried ignoring Gault's snarl of frustration, "Only a bunch of fucking Mandalorians could have a family reunion like this! You're all insane! Next time, I'm going to leave you lying there, Kas. I'll keep your ship! Maybe I'll dump the monkey-lizard on that bastard Jicoln's head while I'm at it! Gods!"

Kastiel butted her shoulder against Gault's, watching as the image of Jicoln Cadera filled her link. He shook his head at her, so that droplets of dirty sweat went flying from off the top of his head, "You accepted my challenge. You shouldn't have."

"Kiss my ass, Jicoln. You're the one who's going to lose everything – every honor, every achievement. After this, even your memory will be wiped from Mandalorian history. Why you keep dragging everyone who's ever respected you through such shit is beyond me."

Jicoln's eyes shined brightly as he glared at her, "So you do understand what the _Geroya be Haran_ costs the loser. I wondered if you did, when you took up the fight."

"You're the one who always puts people on the line that don't deserve the loss. Not me."

Jicoln chuckled sourly, "You don't fight alone today. I see a Devaronian with you, now. Where's the other one?"

"Oh, Gault deserves the loss, trust me," Kastiel ignored Gault's disgusted snort as easily as she ignored Jicoln's question about Torian's location. He had seen Torian already. It was enough of a warning, she believed. "But I won't lose, either."

"I once said the same thing, girl …" Jicoln's image suddenly blurred. She blinked owlishly as Torian's image took shape where his father's had been only moments before. Even Gault grunted at the bizarre disparity between the father and son, muttering, "Yea, that's weird."

"Are you okay, Kas? Kastiel!" Torian was adamant.

She imagined he'd jump through the link to reach her, if he could have. She murmured a sound, soft. Torian quieted and stared back at her. She watched him breathe for a moment, and they stayed that way for several long moments, calming. "I found them," Torian tapped steadily against a datapad, transmitting the coordinates to her. "Korwis would've been disappointed, actually. Jicoln still uses his old methods. The pattern was easy enough to figure out. Remember. Find his honors. When you take them, you can move to take his home. Then you'll win."

"We'll do this, Torian. Don't worry."

"You have to move fast. I'm tracking his home base. Won't be long. Be careful _, cya_ … Kastiel." He made a fist against his side as he regarded her, his golden eyes gleaming brightly in his face. She just looked back at him, her eyebrows gathered together as she lowered her chin only slightly. She watched as his image flickered and disappeared.

Beside her, Gault clicked his tongue. "And to think you were worried he wouldn't like you. I could almost laugh right now. Except I just want to hum some silly sound like 'ahhhh'."

"Shut up, Gault."

"Shutting up, sure thing."

* * *

 **_"... The_ ** **Yai'me'suum _, the homeworld ..."_**

_Kastiel lifted her face up to the sky, laughing as the rain splashed against her cheeks and forehead. Her hair became thickly wet from the water streaming through it, until the braids hung soaked against her small back like two thick ropes she swung in circles around her. Fat droplets of water flung out from all around her._

_She delightedly jumped from puddle to puddle. She kicked the water towards her brother, soaking her clothes and making Gaib shriek in angry determination to get back at her. Cam huddled away out of sight and up against the wall, trying to keep from getting caught in the splashing mess. But she still giggled as she watched her siblings play. Their mother called after them in horrified disgust over their dirty clothes._

_"Leave off, sweet. Let them play. They won't be so young forever." Her father's voice rose deep over the cool wash of the rain shower, and Kastiel swung around to look for him. She giggled when she saw him, waving her hands high over her head as she saw him standing nearby. She chased at him, racing hard through the rain that spilled into the courtyard of the building where they lived, her arms held up as she cried out, "Da!"_

_He caught her, swinging her high over his head, laughing out loud at her eager pleasure. But Tamerie clucked at him, complaining, "Lucian, your uniform will be a ruined mess. How will you explain it when you return … to your home."_

_"Uniforms! Hah! I'll say that I was mobbed by small children who love to welcome the Empire's heroes home," Lucian grinned as he plucked Kastiel's tiny brother from the ground, holding the both of them close. He crooned happily towards Camiel, too. So that his youngest daughter came and held onto his leg, giggling. And for only a moment, Lucian was able to swing his children in a rich and soaking circle._

* * *

Jicoln growled low in frustrated admiration, watching her approach the _Naast_ , his last and final honor that he placed there on the very front of a derelict military vehicle.

The _Naast_ , the destroyer – the thing itself was little more than an old plate of _beskar_ , not even a full piece of armoring. But it came from a worn chest plate, one he had long since torn to pieces. It was armor a long-ago friend made for him. There was a time he crowed how he would give the armor pieces along to his own son; except that Artus went on to kill his son before he could manage it. Now all he had was the armor. There was a bitter kind of irony to using it as his  _naast_ today.

He wondered distantly if Artus made the _beskar_ pieces that covered his _ad’s_ frame, too. He watched her step so close to the vehicle to look down at the metal plate. Her armor fit her well, holding her female curves snugly while still allowing her to maneuver quick over the ground. Her colors were rich, too; mostly brown with some patches of green to contrast. It helped her blend in to the environments where she was hunting, even better.

Oh yea. Artus probably crafted the pieces, Jicoln thought. _Manda_ , but she was well worth it!

She had seized his _Alii'jate_ , a tooth from a beast he'd hunted long ago on the world of Dxun. Then she snatched up his _Yai'me'suum_. That was a small shell he once carried in his pocket when he was still a boy, long ago on Mandalore itself. He heard her give out a shout when she took his _Sterebiise_ , rolling with the prize clutched to her chest as he shot a bolt towards her belly. But she managed to take it, to walk away with Aily's helmet. That was the loss that still made him ache, left his eyes burning even now as he stared down at her.

A daughter worthy of the word, worthy of calling _ad_. That's what she was. Damn Artus to hell for having such a child of his own, after he’d lost Jicoln his son, too. He had no right to know and see a child of his own now. No right, damn him!

Hell! She was winning! The first, his _Alii'jate_ he assumed was little more than luck. That, and a bit of skill. She used the devaronian's sniper fire to counter his own, placing the man in a strategic spot. Actually she directed the devaronian precisely right every time. He would say she was a natural _alor'ad_ , if he were still fighting alongside warriors of the _Mando'ad._ She was _that_ skilled a leader.

But when she seized up his _Sterebiise_ Jicoln realized she was privy to details that only someone who truly knew him might have boasted. Someone who fought alongside him every day, even. Whoever it was … They'd told her what she needed to know, and she was intelligent enough to have gone to them before making her hunt here on Taris. It was a mark of her own ability, that she didn’t face an enemy without knowing him first.

But it also meant someone Jicoln likely called _vod_ once gave him up to his enemies. The bitterness burned in his belly all over again.

She crept even closer to his _Naast_ now, her fingers clenched into fists. Jicoln admired the curl of her back, the way her dark hair brushed the top edge of her armor as she twisted her head around to try and find him. He angled his rifle, raising it as he poised to take the shot and breathed out so slowly. She had just managed to grasp the thing in one small, gloved hand when he let the bolt fly.

But he jerked at the last second, closing his eyes when a spray of pebbled stone flew up and into his face from a rifle bolt on the very edge of the ruin where he was lying prone. Fucking devaronian!

Jicoln snarled angrily. Because his shot likely failed to do anything more but wound the woman, damn it. Jicoln had to move fast to reach her while she was still down. Or he would lose the fight. He had to track her before she found his last home-place. Jicoln ran over the ground towards her, determined to destroy her quickly. When Artus finally lost her, then he would know what it was like! Then he would understand Jicoln’s pain!

Jicoln slowed when he was close enough to hear them talking, though. She was huddled behind that ancient wreck of a vehicle, using its bulk to keep her shielded as she repaired the damage caused by his shot. And the devaronian beat Jicoln to reach her first; the man must have flown over the field to get there before Jicoln did. Jicoln wanted to scream! But he only eased closer, trying to see them and breathing slowly as he listened to their grumbling conversation.

"Shit, yer bleeding, Kas. He’s really not going to be too happy bout that. Protective as hell, isn't he?"

"Just hand me that cauterizer. Dammit, this hurts!"

"Here, you silly woman. Unbuckle the armor, there. It'll help you reach the damn spot. Move your bloody fingers out of the way!"

"Stay focused! Jicoln could take advantage of me being down this long."

The Devaronian grunted, "That Mando of yours will take him apart if he knows the fucker made you bleed. I get the feeling he can be pretty bloodthirsty given the chance. Maybe you should reconsider making him a daddy for your kids."

"Shut up, Gault."

"Yea, yea. First things first. You know, like getting him into a nearby bed, huh?"

"Shut UP, Gault!" There was a hiss then as the woman applied a stim to her wounded side. She sighed, "I … he's moving onto Jicoln's base, said he'd found the place. It's that old wreck of a ship, the big one."

"The one shot down just before the bombardment? Well, he'd know if it was Jicoln's, wouldn't he? Managed to find all these little trophy-things for you."

"Yea. He's good, isn't he?"

"Hey, if he's half as good in bed, you're set!"

"Shut up, Gault, gods! Come on, we've got to move fast."

But she was wounded, bleeding. And Jicoln was already moving.

* * *

 **_..."_ The ** **_Sterebiise_ , who defends a legacy _" ..._**

_"I met Darth Malgus once, Kas. A fearsome creature, scarred and burned almost beyond recognition. But powerful! He would look at you and you could feel it -this awe-inspiring fear that simply burned along your spine. He could do that with only a glance, just a mere shift of his eyes!" Kastiel shuddered at the thought of facing that sort of figure, her dark eyes wide as her pouty little mouth hung open. Tamerie shook her finger towards them._

_"Lucian! Don't frighten her with stories of your battles!"_

_He shook his head, "Kastiel is stronger than you think, Tam, trust me." He leaned over, staring seriously into Kastiel's gaze. "Darth Malgus demanded I attend to his twi'lek slave after the sacking of Coruscant, you see. She was injured during the battle on the planet below. It was Lord Adraas on the_ Steadfast _who refused her treatment, they told me. Darth Malgus was enraged when he found her at a hospital on the surface of the planet, left to rot among the basest of the Republic's wounded. He beat back the crowd to carry her off, brought her to the_ Valor _himself, and then called for doctors to aid her. I went, because of my experience treating twi'leks who were captured on the battlefield."_

_"She was a pretty little thing, with pale blue skin. Her name was Eleena Daru. I saw the way he looked at her when I was attending to her injuries. I didn't say anything, of course. You don't expose such secrets when it comes to the Sith. They consider love to be a weakness, whether it's love of friends, family, or lovers – and they exploit and abuse it whenever it's exposed. So when a Sith loves anything it's hidden away out of sight. That's why I stayed quiet when I regarded the Darth's consideration of Daru."_

_Kastiel exclaimed, then, "Like you with momma!"_

_"Exactly. Just like I love your momma."_

* * *

Torian curled into himself, bending over as if to hold his stomach against pain. He heard the oncoming step, the pressing approach the traitor was making towards him. He wrapped his arm across his lower abdomen, glancing over quickly at his electrostaff where it was propped against a nearby bend of the door that lead into this particular section of the downed ship. His last transmission with her burned through his mind.

_"He's not here, Torian. Took a shot, though."_

_"Yea, and hit that soft place right there across your side, Kas! Have you stopped bleeding yet? Give me that fucking tool, maybe you're not using it right."_

_"Damn it, Gault, shut the hell up already! Torian! He's not here, did you hear me? He has to be headed your way. We're moving, but he'll probably beat us to you."_

He made her bleed, Torian thought now. He panted roughly, working to calm himself as he waited, and he listened to Jicoln's movements through the ship's abandoned corridors. The ship, the _Endar Spire_. He'd seen the name across the ruined bow of the craft when he crawled inside of the thing, wondered only briefly of the final moments the crew must have suffered as it hurtled towards the ground. Now it only served as a hiding place for pirates and criminals.

For traitors, too, Torian thought. He looked towards the pallet where Jicoln's brief number of possessions were gathered.

The traitor stayed mobile. So everything he kept was small and simple, all of it easily portable. He could probably toss the things into a single bag and be on the move again. Torian frowned towards a child's muzzlian squill, a small trinket found so commonly in countless starport shops. He shook his head against the poignancy of the thing placed carefully among Jicoln's personal effects. Torian had never doubted Jicoln's care, at least.

His honor, though? Jicoln's honor was more than questionable. And its lacking hindered Torian the whole of his life. To have something better now, Torian had to clear aside Jicoln’s dishonor. Finally. _And he made her bleed_. Jicoln hurt Kastiel, and that actually made it so much easier for Torian.

Torian sighed when he heard Jicoln step into the room. He kept his blonde head bent down, panting like he was really injured. The blinking lights of Torian's traps filled the space, their red glare providing a rather appropriate backdrop to the confrontation, he thought. His tousled hair fell forward over his forehead. He distantly considered he would need to cut his hair again once this was done, felt the sweat that dripped down across his brow.

"Well. This wasn't what I was expecting. Did you not learn how to properly place a series of explosives, boy?" Jicoln growled the words, his voice gruff with disgust. He moved closer to the downed Mandalorian, eyeing his bent figure with his head hanging low. The young warrior was obviously ashamed of his failure, at least. It was practically embarrassing after he’d done so well up to now, Jicoln thought. Jicoln spit out, "How'd you know me? Who told you about me? I want to know his name."

Torian stayed quiet, only loosing a small moan as he waited patiently. Jicoln frowned, stepping closer. He watched as the warrior shook his head, curling tighter as he seemed to cringe backwards. Not unusual for a man to be afraid in his final moments. But it was hardly what he would've expected from the battling warrior he saw at the transport station. It just didn't fit, he thought, stepping up to loom solidly over the young blonde-haired figure.

And Torian smiled, his lips curving into a satisfied grin as he exploded upwards from his crouching position. His blade flew fast, slicing across the tender flesh of Jicoln's stomach. Blood spurted wildly as Jicoln stumbled backwards, crying out in shock as he fell with a thud onto his ass at Torian's feet. Torian was already leaping towards his staff, swinging around to face Jicoln as the man stumbled back to his feet.

Jicoln glanced down at his stomach, pressed his hand tightly against the bleeding wound there. He grunted, "Underestimated you. You counted on that. Smart." He looked up, staring over at Torian with hard, cold eyes, "But it won't happen again, boy."

"Not a boy, _dar'manda_. Better warrior than you."

"We'll see."

Jicoln flew at him, holding his _beskad_ high above his head as he yelled out a threatening call. Torian braced himself to meet Jicoln's charge, lifting his own staff to meet the swinging blade Jicoln brought down in an arc against him. The clang of the weapons striking against each other rang through the place. But Torian was spinning, turning into Jicoln's rush so that the beskad slid down along his staff and caught against the pronged ends of the weapon.

Torian grunted, looking up into Jicoln's startled gaze just briefly. Then he twisted, using his staff to force Jicoln's grip against the _beskad_. Jicoln swayed, feeling searing pain as his fingers wrenched on the hilt of his blade under Torian's smooth push. Then Torian stepped around again, spinning in another neat circle so he could bring up the other end of his staff and strike Jicoln against the rigid side of his skull.

Jicoln fell back, his ears ringing painfully. Everything seemed to be spinning now, the entire room. Jicoln blinked, trying desperately to clear his vision. The young warrior was yelling at him, yelling out, "Traitor!" Jicoln only barely responded, raising his blade at the very last moment to knock the younger warrior’s staff away from making another blow. Jicoln fumbled backwards, rushing to put some kind of distance between himself and the warrior that fought him.

He's beating me, Jicoln thought. He would _win_! Jicoln was stunned, looking blearily over at the young man as he pondered the ending of his own life. For just a moment the thought of it all being over was almost comforting. And then anger came; it ripped through him. Not again, not one more time would he lose! The last time, he lost his clan; he lost his wife and his son. He lost what chance he had to be remembered! He would _not_ lose the chance for revenge. Not now.

This warrior had maintained his balance from the very start. That was what he needed to tear away from him. He had to ruin and devastate him, even more than he needed to counter the man's tenacious skill. He had to break him first. _It's the only chance I have_ , he thought. It would break the woman, too. Use their care for each other against them, he thought.

Jicoln snorted hard enough he knocked loose the droplets of sweat that dampened his upper lip. Then he lifted his hand, where it was soaked with his own blood from his wounded belly. And he twisted his lips into a sardonic grin as he followed the beads of blood running down the side of his hand, "She was bleeding harder."

Torian froze. His fingers clenched tight along the shaft of his electrostaff so his gloved fingers made a rasping sound in the suddenly still and quiet space. The blinking lights from Torian’s traps lit his face, the burning look in his eyes as he considered the blood on Jicoln’s hand. Jicoln felt his stomach twist when he saw his eyes. But he pushed it away, feeling the desperation beating harder at him. He _had_ to break him, and the warrior was already narrowing his eyes again.

"Not that she bled too much, mind you. Easily fixed. That devaronian was taking care of her when I came here, even." Jicoln canted his head, deliberately thoughtful as he considered, "Woman like that is almost worth keeping, don't you think? If I were a younger man, I might keep her for good, make her a bride. But no. Those days are long past me now." He leaned forward, his eyes intent on the young warrior, on the gathering rage the man was struggling with. "No, now I'd just keep her long enough to soothe the itch that comes from being so long without a bit of female flesh to make use of."

Jicoln watched him break, the angry rage that burst across his face as he snarled back at him, "You'll not touch her." But this time, the man was reeling; he was bitterly enraged, and Jicoln was able to catch his advance with his own bull rush of movement.

Jicoln seized the younger warrior, thrusting his large, beefy shoulder into the upper part of Torian's chest. He compelled him backwards in a terrible force of motion. Torian lost his grip on his staff, heard it thud onto the floor distantly. But they were still moving, as Jicoln forced them both back into the dull grey wall of the ship behind him.

Torian struck the wall with tremendous power. Jicoln grunted, using every bit of his strength to push against the smaller warrior's chest. The sound of Torian's ribs breaking burst through the space. But Torian only hissed, releasing his breath slowly under the tremendous assault. His brown eyes met Jicoln's and he glared, but Torian couldn't speak the curses that rose in his throat. His chest was burning hot with pain.

Jicoln backed away, watched the younger man lean back at first, then slide down against the curved wall until he was hunkered there along the floor. Torian spit at him, leaving a bloody trail against the floor in front of him. Jicoln sighed as he looked down, eyeing the gory insult. He tightened his fingers on the hilt of his _beskad_ , stepping forward to deliver the killing blow. And hating himself virulently as he contemplated the determined protectiveness the man showed even now that he was kneeling down there, wearily gripping the handle of his long-edged dagger as he watched Jicoln approach.

Jicoln understood that sort of determination, remembered what it was to fight breathlessly to the very last, just to earn another moment – just one more day for that precious life a Mandalorian man was obligated to protect, to provide for. He knew what it was to fight for a woman, for the chance to love her, to love her children. He hated taking that from this man, to leave him thinking he'd lost her, instead. It was cruel and mean, to make the fear in him.

That's why Jicoln was very nearly glad when the explosive clang of a hatch bursting open from one of the nearby corridors blasted through the space. Jicoln glanced towards the doorway, listening as the woman called out to him and his own name pealed in an echoing refrain down the long ship’s hallways, “Jicoln! Jicoln Cadera! Face me, damn you! Because I swear to every god there is I'll peel the fucking skin from your body if you've killed him!" Jicoln actually chuckled as he looked over at his young opponent and leaned forward just slightly to keep his own fingers pressed tight to the blood seeping thickly from his stomach.

"That one’s a real spitfire. I could almost like her."

Torian only glared back at him, breathing shallowly to keep his broken ribs from injuring his lungs any further. "You'll not … touch her," he gasped.

Jicoln shook his head, his eyes darkly brown with regret. He turned away, grabbing up the small items he'd tucked into the alcove of the space. Torian watched him pick up that silly muzzlian squill before throwing it into his pack. The traitor looked again towards the doorway, listening to the pounding gait of the woman's boots and the calls of her devaronian companion as he scolded her, "Traps, Kas! Shit! Explosives everywhere! Dammit, Kastiel, slow the fuck down!" Kastiel. That was her name.

Torian threatened him one last time, his voice thready as he started to slide into unconsciousness, "She'll come after you … kill you. Can't stop … her. She won. She beat you."

Jicoln shrugged as he turned to run away, "I lost a long time ago, actually."

* * *

**... "And the _Naast_ , who destroys it" ...**

_Her father's wife was a lovely woman. She was small, curvy like a willowy creature from some long ago myth. One of those winged things her mother used to tell her of when she was even younger. Her hair looked like sheerest spun gold, even. It hung down her back looking like some sort of glittering curtain of satin. There's no way any one might suppose the two raven-haired children that followed behind her as she moved in stately formality through the market, were her own offspring. They looked like nothing so much as a pair of twins in her service, in fact. She seemed almost to treat them that way, too. She even snapped her fingers towards Lusiel when the girl lagged a bit against the side of a table that displayed lengths of pretty fabrics._

_Kastiel remembered something her father said to her own mother when he described the children he shared with his wife. Not that he intended Kas to hear, of course. He rarely ever spoke of his wife, in fact. Not when he was there with Tamerie and their own little ones. But he spoke endlessly of Kas' sister and brother, of his pride and love of them, and how much he wished they were as much a part of Kas' life as he was._

_That day, though, he leaned back in a chair alongside the counter where Tamerie was playfully baking. Not that she needed to perform such mundane tasks anymore, since Lucian took care with her. But Tamerie came to him as a maker of sweets in his kitchen, and she stayed once he loved her. That day, he thought their children were well away from the range of his talking._

_"You have no idea, Tam. They look nothing like her! It's like nothing of her even chanced to show up in either one of them, like she never even existed except as a receptacle for their birth. I thank every one of the old gods for it, too. I only hope they remain as much mine and nothing of her as they grow, too. She disgusts me!"_

_Kastiel watched them now, her eyes following her sister and brother as they moved along behind their mother. Khyriel looked almost exactly like Gaib, she thought. Except that his mother kept his hair slickened back. She probably used some kind of oil, even. The little five year-old boy looked disgusted as he sniffed against the smell of the stuff. She giggled, knowing he wanted nothing more than to shake his head free of the stiff style it had been forced into. She was watching him so intently she completely missed Lusiel, who'd glided close enough she caught sight of Kas standing there, and gasped, "Hello. You look like me."_

_Kastiel gaped back at her mere months-older sister. "Hello," she stammered, staring. The two girls stood there, staring at each other through similar eyes. And then Karen saw them, shrieked out, "Lusiel Phyre! Who_ is _that child?"_

_Kastiel ran. She ran as fast as she could, almost sprinting through the gathering of people there in the market. She ran back towards her mother, where she was shopping the stalls stacked with fruits and vegetables. She ran fast._

_But she was already too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Geroya be Haran was a rare Mandalorian challenge, used to settle disputes over questions of personal honor between two antagonists. It was considered the most serious sort of confrontation between two Mandalorians, because the penalty for the loser wasn't only death. In fact, the loser was literally wiped clean from Mandalorian history. Every one of his honors, his achievements was set aside, expunged from verbal and written history as if they'd never existed. The severity of the penalty made the challenge extraordinarily rare, enough that it had fallen almost totally out of use by the time the Battle of Yavin occured. There's some small indication the challenge harkens back to a victory by the Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders during the Mandalorian Wars.
> 
> Also, a muzzlian squill was a small child's toy. A trinket commonly found for sale in spaceports, by parents heading home to their youngsters. Not unusual to think a Mandalorian might pick it up to carry home as a gift for his son.


	60. Healing Hours

Torian felt the gliding touch of fingers against the bare skin of his side, where it still hurt. He jerked fully awake, his eyes flying open as he grabbed at the hand smoothing against him. Kastiel tumbled down against him, hard enough she bumped along his aching ribs and he hissed angrily in pained shock. He glared up into her brown eyes, felt her tug against the hard hold he maintained on her wrist. But he'd frozen with her in place and he held her tightly, until she finally just dropped her gaze down towards his bare chest.

Torian followed the path of her eyes and stopped. Kastiel had unbuckled and dropped her own armored breastplate while she worked to repair his broken ribs. Now one of her hands lay gently across Torian's bare stomach, just above the seam of his trousers. But all Torian really saw as he looked down past her bent head, was the gaping opening of her under-tunic where she leaned against him. He groaned as he spied her pert nipples beading against the taut band that cupped her breasts, the rivulets of sweat that ran down from her neck over those plump mounds.

Kastiel's focus, though, was still on his twinging side. She looked towards the place along his side where he was injured, "I spent hours stitching your chest back together, Torian. Don't mess up my work, here."

He slowly loosened his grip on her wrist. Kastiel carefully raised herself back to stand there alongside the table where he lay. She pushed back her dark hair so that he was able to see the dark circles under her tired eyes. He frowned at her and then he looked around, "Where are we?"

"The _Endar Spire's_ med bay was still the most sterile location in the vicinity. So we lugged your broken self down here and tossed you up onto one of their tables. Lucky for you, huh?" She grinned at him, but he was still confused.

"Jicoln?"

Kastiel shrugged, "He was already gone by the time we got past the traps."

Torian tried lunging up but Kastiel slapped her hands roughly against his shoulders. She pushed him back until he lay prone against the table again and growled down at him to remain still. Torian gritted through his teeth, "You let him get away!" Torian’s eyes were darkly angry. Kas lifted her chin with pugnacious defensiveness, "There's blood all over the place, and not yours, either. That man's not going much farther than I got you. We'll track him down together."

"You should have left me!” Torian harrumphed bitterly, “You shouldn’t let him get away! Doesn’t matter the cost! _Jare’la!_ Stupid." He blamed her. Like she was some sort of fool in the equation, rather than the medic who made for him to get back up again.

Kas didn't flinch, though. She only pressed her lips together, stiffening into rigid attention as she raised herself up into a rigid position next to the medical table. She breathed in so slowly, gathering herself and looking purely splendid and determined. Fierce. He actually felt desire burning in his belly again, and no matter how much the pain twisted his ribs, either. Damned if he didn’t want her so much right then.

But her dark eyes were dull and flat, as she fell back on the innate leadership that was so much compelling in her, too. Kastiel just ordered him through a wooden tone, like a captain in the field would, “I made the call. And I'd do it again, whether it makes me an idiot or not." She glanced over so that Torian noticed Gault leaning against the far wall. She lifted her chin as she addressed the devaronian, "Two hours, okay? He'll bleed all over again if the kolto patches are disrupted before they settle in place."

"I'll set a timer to it, Kas. Believe me. He won't move. Now go and get some damn rest, for pity's sake," Gault ambled across the floor towards the table while Kastiel reached down to grab her armor. Torian eyed her backside for a moment, but she was too quick for his liking right then. She stood back up, her armor held under her arm as she strode out of the bay. She didn’t look back at him when she stepped out over a bit of debris that kept the med bay doors propped open.

Torian sighed self-disgustedly as she went away, looking around at the ruined room with a weary gaze. He muttered, "She'll not go far, will she? Might be others in here, nearby. Pirates, maybe." Torian glanced towards the wall where Gault had dumped Torian's armor and weapons. He wondered whether he'd manage to grab the stuff before Gault was able to stop him, and he felt his side twinge with pain once again. Doubted it.

Gault chuckled, and Torian's gaze shot up at the man. The devaronian was tapping his chin with a long, slender finger as he seemed to consider, "Mando, in the mood she's in right now any pirate dumb enough to be somewhere inside this ship would be real damn sorry to meet her. Seems there's any number of interesting reactions you're able to entice from her." Torian shifted, but Gault pressed against his shoulder, holding him in place. He scowled, "And trust me. _I_ am not – what was the word you used? Jah-ray-la? Whatever. I’m not _stupid_. Not like your friggin' Mandalorian idiot self that goes off spouting nonsense before thinking. You'll stay still, like she said."

Torian closed his eyes as he laid back, sighing, "I hurt her feelings."

He didn't see but he could imagine Gault shrugging. The man's tone seemed nonchalant when he responded, anyway, "There are only a few people who can do that so easily, in fact." Torian opened his eyes again and leveled a stare up at Gault, frowning with curiosity, "Tell me about them. The people who're important to her. Who are they?"

Gault grinned as he leaned against the table, "Well, we've got a couple hours to waste, don't we? Think I could fill two hours with tales of my exploits?" Torian sighed loudly. But Gault only laughed, "Guess it's not really me you want to know about. And Mako's pretty obvious, too. We're not the ones you're asking about." Gault leaned forward, staring intently enough that he was certain whatever the man was about to say was important, "Want to know what happened to her after her mother was killed and a group of Mandalorians picked her up off the ground? Want to hear about the people she’s been fighting to protect, to provide for all these years? That’s important to Mandalorians, right? Family? Clan?"

Torian sucked in a breath, feeling the stitch of pain against his healing side. He had known his lungs were punctured, had felt the blood bubbling there against the tender wounds inside. That Kastiel was proficient enough a healer to open up his side to patch his lungs in such precarious battlefield conditions was yet another testament to her tenacity and skill. Once again she showed how much _capable_ she was. She was extraordinary.

He wanted her, felt desperate with the desire to call her _his_ to every fighter and warrior they came across, to make certain no one else tried laying claim to her – and he hated that he hurt her enough she'd trudged off into dangerous spaces by herself and without backup or support. The tumult of feelings was almost overwhelming to him right then.

So he nodded at Gault, concentrating on the man's stories of the woman he loved, where she came from and what she'd accomplished. In order to avoid thinking of his own foolish blunders, at least. Torian said, "Tell me."

* * *

Kastiel found the ship's old water supply. There were several tanks looming in that section, large hulking shapes that filled the space and made great dark shadows along the walls, there. Only one of them retained a pretty impressive supply of water, though. Probably why Jicoln Cadera made the ship his primary home on the world, was the water. Even though he stayed mobile.

Now Kastiel tested the water carefully, scanning it with smooth, proficient motions, and smiled happily when she realized it was probably more sterile than any other water source she'd come across on Taris. Spoke well of the ship's original engineers, too. She worked methodically to replace her supply of potable water, filling several jugfilters. Enough to ensure none of them would become dehydrated anytime soon. Then she eyed the tap on the tank consideringly.

It did take her a while to find something big enough to contain a goodly supply of water. In the end, Kastiel pushed and pulled an old cold crate, one that had long since stopped working – pushed it towards the tank until it was perched under the tap so she could fill it up. A hot bath would've been preferable, of course. But Kastiel was perfectly capable of making do with what was available.

She stripped quickly, laying her weapons within easy reach before she climbed naked into the large, water-filled crate. She sat only briefly, just long enough to soak her slim body before she stood back up again. Then she washed, using a length of rough cloth from an old torn shirt. She pulled the makeshift towel across her skin so that the dirt and grime of the past few days ran down her frame to settle onto the bottom of the improvised tub.

Kas shivered against the cold of the water, feeling her skin pulling tautly and the hairs on her arms standing stiff from the shocking coolness. She held the cloth against the ridged muscles of her stomach, hoping to warm herself as she closed her eyes. Just a little bit, she thought, as heavy rivulets of water ran down over her stomach and across her thighs.

And that was the moment Torian found her.

Everything stopped. He wasn't able to breathe for a moment, even. He only stood there, frozen as he watched her.

Kastiel was slender, her body a fit and pert example of a healthy human female. The skin of her torso was even more pale than her face and hands. Almost the color of the Arkanian sweet milk that Torian loved to drink, in fact. And soft-looking, too. All fresh and smooth, nearly unblemished except for a few brief scars along the lower part of her stomach. That, and the vivid red line from her recent run-in with Jicoln against her side were the only imperfections Torian could see.

Her stomach was firm and well-muscled, rising over the sweetest flat belly. Torian could just make out the twinkle of a small luminescent gem nestled into the tiny curve of her navel. He almost groaned as it reflected the soft light of the space when she twisted around to gather some more water with the cloth in her hands. Maybe he hissed, though, because she suddenly became aware of him, turning quickly to look over at him with her dark brown eyes wide.

She raised her hands up to cover her breasts, and he did groan aloud then as they only became so much more appealing barely hidden behind her splayed fingers. He could still see the brilliant pink of her areola, like blushing kisses on the top of her breasts. Her breasts were just a bit too large for her frame, the mounds swelling even against her own fingers. But they were flawlessly shaped; round, like sweet fruits that made for bursts of flavor against a man's tongue. And her pretty pink nipples were puckered tightly.

The cloth was still dripping water from off her small pinkie finger, though, and he watched in fascination as it continued dripping down over her torso into the soft black curls between her legs. Kas murmured into the quiet, "Torian?" He snapped his gaze back up to her face then, watched as she pushed her wet hair back from her eyes. She was biting her lip uncertainly, and he realized she was nervous. She lifted one of her hands to wipe some water away from the implant under her eye as she glanced down at her feet.

Torian took a deep breath before he said anything. But his voice was still gruff when he pushed the words out, "I'm sorry."

She bit her lower lip again. Torian felt himself pulse even harder as he watched her pull at that soft bit of flesh with her teeth. Kas fidgeted, "What're you sorry for?"

He looked at her, his head canting softly to the side, "For what I said to you before. I was upset at my own failure and spoke without thinking."

"Oh. But … you're not sorry for ... About now, I mean."

His eyes turned molten and hot, until they gleamed at her like golden flames. He stood there, patient as ever, just showing her himself. Not hiding how much he wanted her. "No. I'm not sorry for this." _Never would be_ , he thought.

"Oh. Okay." Kastiel shook her head uncertainly as she looked back down towards her toes that were still immersed in the water that filled the crate. She wasn't sure what to say, felt like her tongue was some useless thing just lying there in her mouth. She tried sounding smart, but her voice cracked, "You're not still hurt …?"

"No. Why I came looking for you. Been more than two hours."

She looked back up towards him, at the way he kept watching her. She felt heat blooming between her legs, and she shifted against the sensation. It was new, except around him. He made her feel warm every time he looked at her. But she simply didn’t know what to do about it. She felt … off-balance, like she couldn’t quite find her footing and she was afraid of moving wrong or she’d fall down flat on her ass with embarrassment. Damned un-fun a feeling, really. And Gault was no blasted help, either.

Then Kas remembered she was still standing there naked, and if some miscreant pirate chose that moment to burst in on them she’d probably be toast. But Torian was standing between her and the doorway, and his eyes were intent and strong. He had pulled his armor back on, and damn it she missed the way he looked without it. But she realized he was shielding her.

She had no single doubt he'd take apart anyone who tried coming in here with a threat bared. And that heightened the excited heat between her legs, too. She frowned at such an alien, disparate sensation, the sense of satisfaction and excitement that came from knowing someone was watching out for her, rather than expecting her to protect them. She felt … weirdly unsure what even to say.

"I'll get dressed," Kastiel announced. She clambered out of the makeshift tub and began yanking on her clothes. She missed the way Torian swallowed as he watched her motions. When she glanced back at him, in fact, he had already looked away. Kastiel pulled her clothes on quickly. But she slowed as she put her armor into place. She always gave care to her armor and how well secured it was up against her body. A goodly-placed shot could do a tremendous amount of damage, so that it was imperative she was always aware of every little vulnerable spot.

Torian moved close to her, fingering the buckles against the lower side of Kastiel's breastplate just above the curve of her hip. "Lift your arm out of the way, Kas," he breathed. He felt the gravest sort of masculine satisfaction as she complied, lifting her arm up so that he could tighten the buckles that held the plates of armor against her skin. He ran his fingers up and down the seam there, checking one last time to ensure the armor was snug against her and there was no clasp or fastening that would come loose in the middle of a fight.

Then he stepped back, secure in the trust she gave him – that she knew he would keep her safe and he would protect her.

It was enough for now, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jare’la is a "reckless or foolish risk of your life". When some action is regarded as stupid or foolhardy, rather than particularly brave, in fact. 
> 
> Arkanian sweet milk is a creamy and very strong type of mead, in fact. It was brewed on the planet of Arkania.
> 
> Cold crates were electronically chilled containers that were used to transport cargo via starship. They came in a variety of sizes, though the most common was basically the size of a footlocker type of box. There was usually a cryogenic unit at the end of the crate that would work to keep the inner temperature of the box constantly low.
> 
> Finally, a water jugfilter was a liquid container typically found in survival kits or a soldiers' gear. The containers had an internal filter capable of decontaminating water. The length of time of the process depended on how tainted the water was. Once completed, a small green light at the top would signal the water was safe for consumption.


	61. By the Way

Brye rubbed against the bottom edge of his eye mask with one slender finger, thoughtful as he regarded the image of Master Jun Seros on the holoterminal. He only glanced sideways briefly when the twi'lek called Zenith entered the nearby conference room.

Zenith seemed to burn with a dark, terrible fervor, so potent Brye could almost see it around him like it was an aura. Like it shined there. It was dangerous. But he knew only Zenith could find his way through the anger and the bitterness, to find something better. He could only help guide his steps, and then only hope. That it didn’t descend into violence before it was done, at least. He liked Zenith enough, that he didn’t want to lose him into vengeance.

Darkness won over a spirit through such steps. Even if the first steps seemed at reasonable, or worthwhile. Brye just saw more pain that came of vengeance, than anything worth holding or making. He wondered how Master Jun had forgotten something so intrinsic to their Order, actually.

"You're the Barsen'thor, Master Brye," Jun Seros was saying as he leaned closer to the terminal, so that his image appeared to loom over Brye's smaller figure. Not that Brye was intimidated. He had pondered, in fact, if fate had purposefully made for his diminutive frame to somehow compensate for the grasping strength of the Force he possessed. A balance, he supposed. Just some small measure that reminded him always of how precious it was. That no great power was to be had without equal sacrifice.

"That I am the Barsen'thor is reason enough, Master Jun, for me to question your motivations in this regard. I wonder if you seek justice, as much as retribution." Brye watched Jun's eyes widen.

Brye was the one who had beaten back a darkness determined to overwhelm some of the Order's greatest masters, the feat that had earned him the title of Barsen'thor. He was the Warden of their Order. To have _him_ pondering such a chance was … Jun seemed to shake himself. "Perhaps when you've gained more experience, you will better appreciate what justice requires of us as Jedi, rather."

Brye only shrugged his slim shoulders, appearing calmly unperturbed. Castigations of his youth were common enough, as well. Qyzen sometimes called him "Hatchling" even, insisting that the word "fit the Herald". Brye wasn't sure if the Trandoshan referred to his age or his size when he used the term, actually. He did know Qyzen meant it as an expression of respect, as if to fool those within hearing into underestimating the Sage he followed so faithfully. He often told Brye, " _They think because your years are as small as your body, that they can easily overcome you. It's amusing to watch them learn better_."

"You are perhaps correct, of course. I imagine I will learn much, given the passage of years." Brye canted his head thoughtfully as he looked back at Jun Seros' image, "Have you approached the Council to describe your intentions, Master Jun?"

Jun frowned, "I was hoping that the combined considerations of the Order's Battlemaster _and_ its Barsen'thor would convince the Council of the righteousness of the endeavor."

This time, Brye did not obscure his tired sigh. He was still covered in the dust and sweat of recent days spent among the rebels and fighters in Balmorra's war, below. That, and trying one last time to save the shattered mind of Balmorra's previous President had sapped his energy to a truly dangerous level. He could see Theran standing impatiently near the doorway even now. He imagined the man would tap his foot pretty soon if Brye dragged the conversation out very much further.

His friends were familiar with Brye’s tendency to give more than was asked of him, even and up to his last bit of strength. It wouldn't be the first time he simply collapsed to the floor from sheer exhaustion, anyway. Nor would it matter in the least to any of them the sense of doom he felt as he considered Jun Seros' impending course. So he tried one more time, "Master Jun, I implore you not to continue down this path. I sense no good will come of it."

"Justice must be done, Master Brye," Jun Seros pressed his lips tightly together. Brye felt the intensity of his zeal even through the holo, and it troubled him. Perhaps because it was so much similar to the vehemence he'd felt in another more flawed and broken Jedi only months earlier. Jun’s voice rose an octave as he demanded, "This hunter made Kellian Jarro's life into a mere score, a prize in a game. She _murdered_ him. And earned nothing more than a fancy title, maybe some trinkets, as a result."

Brye nodded solemnly, remembering the reports he read that described Jedi Master Kellian Jarro's death. "But was it not Master Kellian who destroyed hundreds of Mandalorians, years past? They say he nearly wiped out an entire clan of those people. It was their need for revenge which brought such a terrible end to that noble Jedi. More revenge, in turn, will only invite further pain and tragedy. Master Jun, please. Do not do this."

"You're wrong in thinking I seek revenge. This is a question rather, of justice. Leaving this hunter free to do more harm is what would be truly dangerous, I believe."

Brye held up one gloved hand tiredly, its crimson color so obscured by thick layers of dust and dirt from the planet below that it appeared more brown than red. He thought sideways that he needed to start wearing more browns and whites. Gray, maybe.

But regardless. He was done. Theran had started tapping his foot, even. He only said, "I understand your feelings, Master Jun. But I can not support you in this effort. I hope you will set it aside, rather. Before your anger destroys you."

"You do not understand, I see. I will not concern you with this any further." Jun Seros' image disappeared suddenly, although his lingering sense of angry dissatisfaction remained. Brye stood there staring at the empty holoterminal for several moments. He startled when Theran suddenly cleared his throat, loudly. It was a testament to his weariness that the scientist had managed to come so much closer without Brye sensing the approach.

"Come now, Jedi. I have some hot stimcaf prepared. It should enliven you just enough to finish your meetings with our visiting dignitaries. Afterwards I'll give you a sedative so that you sleep at least a full day. Before your body finally gives out. Again, mind you."

"Of course, Theran. And thank you. Please bring me a cup. You're right, I'll need it." He ignored the admonishment for rest, only leaned over and tapped at several buttons on the terminal in front of him. Theran watched him for a moment, the slight seventeen year-old who's sheer mastery of the Force continued to amaze him, before he turned to leave. He glanced back one last time just as a new image took shape on the holo, saw the figure of an exceedingly pretty dark-haired woman smiling at the Sage. Her large brown eyes were warm as she looked at Brye.

"Brye! I heard that you'd already left Balmorra.” She tsked towards him, “I just now arrived and I thought we’d try to meet before you left. I'm disappointed."

"I am truly sorry, Cam. I was hoping we could meet, yes. I believe it would be better, however, if our meeting took place on Tython, rather. There are matters to bring to the Council's attention, I believe …"

And the door closed.

* * *

 Kastiel reached out to place a single finger against the small splotch of blood on the pole of the bare-looking lean-to that some group of pirates, probably, had abandoned years earlier. She eyed the ground around the shattered remains of the structure, looking at the twisted and roughened soil where someone had stepped. And she finally spied a single palm print – or half of one, at least. He must have pushed himself up from the ground after lying there for precious hours.

Torian crouched next to her then, leaning over to glance into the structure's interior. He grunted, "Only minimal supplies. And not half your skill at healing, Kas. He'll have to keep moving, and that means he'll be opening his wounds again." Kas turned her head to look at him, slid her gaze down along the strong cords of his neck as he brought his head back around to look over at her.

He could see how much she wanted him; there in her eyes as she watched him. But her lips parted uncertainly, her tongue darting out to touch the corner of her mouth as confused frustration filled her gaze then. Torian only smiled so slowly, because it was obvious she simply didn’t understand her own feelings. It was all so unfamiliar to her. She’d never wanted to mate a man before, and knowing she wanted _him_ made Torian feel heavy and hard. Until his stomach knotted with possessive intention.

Behind them, Gault declared abruptly, "You know, it occurs to me that mucking around in the dirt isn't that pleasant. I'm going to stop being bummed trying to figure out what the hell you're looking for there, anyway." Kastiel and Torian looked towards Gault at the same time, blinking at him with identical expressions of surprised confusion on their faces. Gault actually laughed aloud as he regarded them where they still crouched in the dirt next to the bare-looking trash heap of a shelter. "You guys look so fucking Mandalorian right now it's not even funny. And that is _not_ a compliment, mind you," he told them, laughing.

Kas grinned at him as she stood back up. She brushed her hands together, knocking dirt from off the edge of her fingers, "You're just pissed that Torian looks better without his pants on than you do." Torian raised an eyebrow at her, since he was wearing his trousers when he woke on the Endar Spire. But when else would she have seen him without pants? He resisted turning to look at his rear-end, to judge for himself what Kastiel looked at so hotly

"Hey, all that means is you haven't shot him in the ass. Yet.” Gault chuckled with sour amusement, “Maybe you can shoot him just to get another gander at his butt, heh?"

She looked towards Torian as he came back to his feet. He smiled when he noticed her watching his rear as he stood back up. Kastiel slowly shrugged, "I don’t think I’d have to shoot him, actually. He may let me see, just to make me happy. He's nice like that."

Torian actually grinned, enjoying the bantering game they were playing with him. It was unusual for him to be a part of a team that simply played together every chance. There was no sense he needed to fight for his place; it was already assured. So that they just included him in the laughter. Torian waved his palm towards Kastiel, "Show you, yes. Name the place, even. But not Gault. That’s just … wrong."

Gault burst out laughing, "Oh, trust me, my fine Mandalorian friend. And believe me there's irony in my calling any born and bred Mandalorian a friend, by the by. But I'm quite certain I don't want to get any peeks at your cheeks, either. Keep your pants _on_."

The chirp of Kastiel's commlink disrupted their teasing at each other. Kastiel sighed dramatically over the interruption, muttering to herself, "What, do they somehow _know_ when I'm actually having a bit of fun, sheesh?" Gault harrumphed, his smile still wide and open. Until Kastiel turned serious when the man’s image appeared over her link. Her grin didn’t even stutter; it just disappeared.

Torian frowned. But Gault hissed, grabbing Torian’s arm as he pulled the Mando warrior out of sight of the comm. He figured Kastiel would try to keep Torian out of X’s notice for as long as she could, at least. They only lingered close enough to hear the conversation.

"Have you been discovered?" Kastiel's voice was formal and hard business. Torian realized he was listening to the Champion, the pure hunter. As if the laid-back woman of moments earlier didn't even exist.

"No. I remain secure where you left me, actually. Your efforts at keeping me hidden proved rather impressive, in fact. You should consider marketing the skill. It's quite nearly as remarkable as your ability to _find_ people,” X tried appealing to her with a compliment first-off. It was a regular part of their discourse. As if he believed a mere compliment would soothe the sting of whatever bad news he offered up next.

Kastiel was never soothed, "Cut the crap. You wouldn't contact me to give me career advice. What's wrong?"

Torian narrowed his eyes as he examined the man's image, memorizing his face and figure carefully. He had a light dusting of dark hair on his head, as if it was growing back after being shorn for a long time. His skin was dusky, even tanned. Wherever he was, there was a good supply of sunshine, it seemed. All that, and he seemed unaffected by the hunter's brisk business-like attitude. He anticipated it, in fact.

So he wasn’t an enemy, not really. More like an ally you knew was angling to stab you in the back, every time you turned it to him. Kastiel didn’t trust him in the least. And certainly not with care of her people. Gault stayed out of sight; and he hid Torian even more. _Kas doesn't want this man to know we’re close by_ , Torian thought.

X pressed his face closer to the link, his eyes deadly serious, "You told me to contact you if he was threatened. I'm contacting you."

Kastiel's eyes went starkly dark, like she was watching the rippling waters of a pool late at night. One where a hungry beast lurked deeply, looking for something to consume. She was angry. But scared at the same time. She growled, "You said they wouldn't do it so long as he was useful. He's barely turned twenty years-old. And he's healthy even, with years left in which they can twist and pull him before he's all used up. So why the fuck would they do this _now_?"

The man shrugged, looked almost nonchalant. But it was an illusion. He effected a deadpan expression only to hide the depth of his own bitter distress. Like someone offended his possessive interest in whatever male they were discussing. _He's angling for Kastiel’s help, because he can’t do it on his own,_ Torian thought. But X pretended boredom, "That’s the thing, though. The Empire didn’t do anything. Not yet, at least. They would have just destroyed him, rather. He’s frightened a lot of powerful figures on the Council, mind you; but someone there is shielding him, too. It likely makes for some interesting power plays between the lords in the Citadel.”

“You know who’s shielding him?”

“No.” X sounded disgusted with himself. He didn’t like it when his own fingers couldn’t dip into the right pools. The fact someone alluded his prodding offended his very sensibilities. “If I poke at that particular question too hard, it will draw attentions I’d rather not attract just yet. If you please.”

Kastiel snorted. She was only glad to know that particular tidbit of information about her family alluded the rogue agent. She changed the subject then, “If it’s not the Empire, then who?”

X’s nostrils twisted with bitter disgust, “Someone sold him out. If I had to guess, it wasn’t even important enough a transaction. Certainly didn’t come from anyone truly ranked, or even important. It will take me some time to find them.” That he would find them went without saying. X would use Kastiel to neutralize the weak threat once it was uncovered, too.  

Kastiel breathed out, "It’s the Republic, then. They would have paid the most for the information. How long?"

"If he were anyone else, I'd give him mere months. But him? He's _your_ brother. And his mind is exceptionally more powerful than anything I’ve ever known. Even the Sith were never able to match it. It’s why he scares them.” X offered no single illusions this time. His dark eyes were heady with angry worry, “He may last a year, longer even. He'll suffer the entire time."

Kastiel bit past her clenched teeth. She was blatantly determined to prevent any sort of harm to her brother. Torian wanted to reach out for her, but Gault held him back. Kas demanded, "You said you'd save him."

"As I recall, my words were that I would _try_ to save him, actually."

"And what were mine?"

The man simply stared at her. Torian sensed X was trying to judge the level of threat Kastiel posed to him, knew that X would strike out at her if he determined the threat was too great, too real. He nearly stepped off to stand alongside her, to demonstrate his readiness to defend her. But Gault gripped his elbow and hissed softly against his ear, "No! We don't fuck around with these guys. Let Kas handle it; she understands them. ‘Sides. She's useful to him, so she's safe enough."

X decided then, "Believe me, hunter. I intend to do all that I can to stop this from happening. That's all I can promise you, though. The rest will depend on him. As I said, he's exceptional. He may survive. He may even beat them. We will see before long."

Kastiel grimaced, looking briefly towards her men. She saw Gault murmuring something into Torian's ear. Torian was shaking his head as he regarded her, lifted his chin towards her when he noticed her looking at them. She smiled wistfully, then, before looking back towards the figure on her link, "You need me. Where?"

X was always watching, of course. She imagined it wouldn't take long before he knew exactly who it was standing nearby her during this conversation. Who it was she trusted enough to be close when she talked to him, at least. _He probably had a good idea who'd donated the sperm that made Mako, in fact_ , she thought snidely.

"Taris, of course. He's arrived just two days ago. He has watchers keeping track of his movements, and I can’t do what I need without alerting them. Break them, hunter."

Kastiel snorted as the man's image faded away abruptly. She wanted to throw something, hit something. Instead, she tossed her link back into her pack and slumped against a nearby tree, glaring at nothing and everything.

Gault sighed wearily as he leaned against the same tree currently holding Kastiel up, "Is there some reason your baby brothers can't make things easier and just pick one side to share together? I recommend convincing Gaibriel to smuggle his ass on over to Dromund Kaas. Because we're not going to be able to run around Coruscant anytime soon, I don't think." He actually made himself a perfect target. Kastiel punched him squarely on the shoulder, hard enough he yelped and rubbed his sore shoulder with a show of tired self-pity.

She looked over at Torian, saw him nod firmly at her. A warrior protected his family above all other things. He expected nothing less from Kastiel. His easy support was calming, soothing to her. Gods, she wanted him. She leaned her head back against the bark of the tree, thinking hard, and tried to determine a working course.

They'd play their games with her brother, not caring if he paid every price for it. She had a sudden image of him at five, his hair all slicked back with smelly oils. The last time she caught sight of him, back on Dromund Kaas, his hair was longer. He trimmed it just barely into Imperial regulations against the bottom of his neck, likely resisting any kind of memory of his growing-up years. A minor rebellion, but one that she recognized at least.  

Damn them to every single Corellian Hell for threatening him! "Gault," Kastiel looked over at the devaronian with a serious expression. "I need your help."

Gault sighed loudly, dramatically flairing: "Figures. Get jumped by a monkey-lizard. And the next thing I know, I'm running around saving the asses of damn Imperial Agents. I knew it. I'm doomed."


	62. Finishing It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is very long. No way to really break it up, actually. So bear with me.

_Korwis laid his heavy hand against the back of Torian's thin neck. But he only stood there quietly while the boy fought to keep from crying and hid his face where it was already marked with wet tears. Torian plucked along the hem of the shirt he was wearing, wearing at the fabric with his small fingers so that Korwis didn’t see that he’d cried. Korwis was glad; and proud. Torian was showing the innate strength of will and character he knew was in the boy._

_He was more glad, that he didn't have to see the pain in Torian’s eyes. Korwis was very sure if he saw how much Torian was hurt, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from attacking the_ shabuir _._ That damn son of a bitch _, he thought._

 _Everyone was talking about it, until the entire Mandalorian community practically hummed with buzzing interest. All of them talked, of how Jicoln's son was denied the chance to learn with the other boys. He was turned away from the small group of children who gathered together to listen to the stories and sing the songs that helped them understand the traditions and customs precious to the_ Mando'ad _. "Getcha gone from here,_ Aru'tal _! You'll never understand what real honor is, mark my words," the grizzled warrior leading the celebration said to him._

_Korwis ached for him. But he was just as proudly awed how Torian responded, too. "There's something to be said, Torian, that an eight year-old boy can shame an old fool like that so easily. I'm pleased," Korwis murmured quietly, his voice thick with feeling. Torian only shrugged, though._

_"I didn't look to shame him, wasn't trying."_

_"I know. But, Torian. You held your head high, you didn't turn away from them as if you deserved anything they said. You showed them you weren’t ashamed, only showed them what it was to behave with honor and pride. And that’s what shamed them, to see strength in such a young one and no matter how they failed to teach you that much."_

_Torian shook his small head, because he didn’t really care about honor right then. He just felt lonely and alone in the whole entire world around him. And selfish enough he only wanted some single friend. If Jicoln hadn’t betrayed them so badly, then no one would yell curses over his name or hate Torian. He wouldn’t be left out or shoved aside._

_Torian looked up, watching the turning of the largest moon in the sky through the reddish haze of the evening. The dark, tinted windows of the spired building where they took shelter didn’t obscure the gloaming light outside. Geonosis was a tough world, where only the hardiest individuals managed to eek out a survival. They used the harsh world to hone their skills in the gladitorial rings, and Korwis fought well every time._

_Torian sighed, throwing his shoulders back determinedly. He would be like the bug people who made this planet their home, be strong enough to succeed over every one of them who said he wouldn’t. The challenge would make him better than the lot of them, the way Korwis insisted. Torian knew he would win someday. "I only told them the truth. I’ll show them, Korwis. I'll show them I have honor, that it's_ mine _. Not Jicoln's."_

_Korwis grunted with satisfaction, "Yes. That, Torian, is the truth you showed them tonight. That's what they all saw. They saw a true Mandalorian in you. And it was glorious."_

* * *

"Pirate scum! Get your grubby, thieving hands out of that crate!"

Kastiel lifted her head above the edge of the box, actually raising herself until she was crouched on the very tip of her toes to look over towards the Imperial soldier in the doorway. His narrow, pinched face was twisted into a bitter expression. Two other rough-looking soldiers stood behind the sergeant, too. The corners of her mouth twisted with humor as she looked at them through the dark shadows of the storage shed, her brown eyes glittering amusedly, "Been called a lot of things. Not pirate though. I'll have to mark that one down in my little record book."

The man scowled angrily, so that the pitiful little tuft of hair under his thin nose twitched. The placement of the hair right there under his thin needle of a nose made her want to laugh, just watching his mouth move. Even the grinning soldiers behind him chuckled. But the sergeant didn’t seem so much approving of Kastiel’s sense of humor right then.

He squinted his eyes into narrow slits, trying to see her through the gloom. But her implants just barely gleamed through the low light of the shed. Then she shifted where she was kneeling, and a sliver of moonlight highlighted the curve of her armored chest. The sergeant's pale blue eyes flared then. He demanded, "Hah! You’re just a Mandalorian bitch! Don't mock me and get out of there."

Kastiel sighed loudly, shaking her head as she sidled out from behind the stacked crates. She maneuvered carefully around the tangled supplies Jicoln haphazardly strewn over the floor while he hunted for healing materials. That he was still bleeding badly was obvious enough, since Kastiel easily discerned a single bloody slash where his fingers swiped one of the boxes. Torian’s cut over his stomach wasn’t repaired, or even properly covered anymore. Jicoln was too hard-pressed, forced to keep moving.

But Jicoln was no pirate, either. This absurd sergeant had such narrow judgment, Kastiel thought. Even if he lacked intelligence enough to see the signs for what they were, he should be smart enough to ask relevant questions. But no. And she wasn’t willing to simply volunteer the information, either. _Her_ hunt, _her_ business.

But she was fast losing her humor with this idiot sergeant, in the meantime. "Ah, and here I thought you were going to keep calling me a pirate. As insults go, it was at least new," Kastiel leaned her weight onto one slender hip, neatly thrusting her pelvis forward so her blaster was that much closer to her reach. She watched the other two soldiers step closer, then. Better professionals than the brashly stupid sergeant, she thought. Hey, _they_ raised their rifles at her in warning! She was almost impressed.

Sergeant Braying Ass continued braying, though, "Oh, I'll treat you like a pirate, if that's what you want. Want to see what we do to a pirate bitch, instead?"

"Well, gee. It's not every day I get such a tempting offer. Seriously. I’d have real fun beating the ever-living crap out of you just for bothering me so much." Kastiel smoothed one slender finger across the implant under her eye, "You're wasting my time, anyway. I’ve got more important things to do, than to stand here bantering with witless shit-for-brains like you."

The sergeant laughed then. He leaned sideways to better discern the implants stretching up into the shells of her ears, chortling, "As if you could! You're just a defective mongrel bitch! Which goes to show you how stupid Mandalorians really are, putting their damn cripples into armor. Deafer than a dog, aren't you?" He tsked at her, while the other two following behind him only grinned and chuckled some more.

Kastiel wondered absently if the sergeant’s goons even possessed the ability to speak, since all they seemed to do was stand there and leer like a pair of raw primates. Only possibly, she decided. Then she noted the twist of a shadow just behind the soldiers, and she shrugged to keep their notice on her, “Are you one of the saps who pukes every time you get called to headquarters, sergeant? Weak stomach, I mean? I bet you can barely handle the Taris humidity. Real money, mind you.”

The goons choked on some real laughs this time, until it sounded like their throats were actually clogged. The sergeant glared at her, though, “At least I can count! There’s three of us to your one. You’ll not like those odds when you’re flat on your back, here."

"But, Sergeant. One deaf Mandalorian cripple is all it takes to kick _your_ ass. Trust me on that," Kastiel chuckled.

Then her gloved hand shot out in a whipping arch to grab at the thick brown hair he took such pains each morning to comb into precise military neatness. He yelped when he felt her fingers digging into his scalp as she pulled his head down precisely and fast, until the front of his face was crushed against her armored knee. He felt the pain burst across his senses like an explosion, so that he reeled in burning, bleeding hurt right there on the ground at her feet. He just knelt on all fours in front of her, spitting blood out through his shattered teeth and sniffling loudly.

It was gradually quiet then, except for his own wheezing. He dazedly wondered why the others didn’t do anything, why they didn’t take the Mando down when she grabbed him. He knew she was still standing there, though. Because he could see the steely toes of her boots along the upper edge of his line of vision. But he only groaned another pained insult through his broken nose, "You bitch." But he heard a low, masculine growl of anger and intent then.

"Can always prod him with a jolt, too."

He blinked tired tear-filled eyes straight ahead, crouched down in the dirt still. And he suddenly realized there were _two_ sets of armored boots there. They wavered in his bleary vision. One pair belonged to the bitch that kneed him in the face. But who was the other one? He wasn't seeing double; at least he didn't think so. Hells. There had to be another one … He pushed his head back, trying to see them both and listening to her talk.

"Tempting. It _was_ pretty funny watching those other two apes piss themselves like that. How much of a shock does that thing of yours provide?"

"Depends on the setting. Can pain them. Can kill them."

"Yea. But no bounties for dead Imperials here on Taris. No matter how fucking stupid they are. Believe me, I checked."

"Too bad."

The sergeant gurgled slightly as he finally managed to raise himself up far enough to see her again. There was a man standing next to her now. She was standing so still, with both her arms crossed over her chest as she blithely examined his upturned features and the blood running down his front.

Her man stood solid and direct right next to her. _Another Mandalorian_ , he thought. He was human, with raised scars etched deliberately into the skin of both his cheeks. Blonde, with a small slash of hair down his chin that he kept trimmed into a precise shape. Far more attractive than the dot of hair under his own nose.

The Mando’s armor was pale, ghostly in the late evening light, with brown and gold edging. He held an electrostaff loosely against his side, the ends still slightly flaring.

Kastiel glanced at Torian, frowning curiously, "You find it, then?"

He nodded, although he didn't look away from the nearly crying Imperial. The man's lower face was already swelling up. As he gasped a reedy breath, Torian was able to see the gap in his lower jaw where several teeth used to be. Blood ran down his chin thickly. He grunted softly, satisfied that the man was bleeding. Torian inclined his chin in the proper direction, "He’s moving fast. Found the trail. But we need to go."

The sergeant realized they were looking for someone, hunting. Enough they weren't patient with anyone who got in their way, either. He glanced behind him at the twitching forms of his men, lying still on the ground. Each man was wet with the heavy stench of smoke and urine. Like they'd been put inside an oven and zapped with cooking heat, perhaps. Or prodded with someone's damn electrostaff. Every so often they loosed pained whimpers as they lay there. The sergeant looked back up at the pair of Mandalorian hunters, spitting out more blood as he groaned aloud, "You're both crazed!"

Kastiel smirked down at him, bending over just slightly, "Well. We didn't have time to play 'what we do to Mando bitches'. But it was fun playing 'what we do to Imperial idiots', huh?"

He glared angrily at her when she turned to walk away, her hips swaying so that the two blasters tucked against her side glimmered in the low evening light. He wheezed out past his broken jaw, "Fucking whore." That's when the other one – that yellow-haired bastard of a Mandalorian! – that's when Torian slammed a single hard-gloved fist across the swelling length of his chin, breaking whatever bone there hadn't yet been broken and sending him screaming into unconsciousness at last.

* * *

Kastiel watched as Torian unrolled the _haarshun_ bread, until it lay flat and thin along his thigh. He smeared a length of mashed fenti beans along the length of bread, before he tucked a handful of goatgrass on top of the beans and rolled the bread back up. He handed the sandwich to Kas, gesturing silently that she eat it. He grunted when she settled herself next to him, sitting close enough that her hip brushed his own.

She watched the stars above their heads as they both ate and waited for the sun to rise again. But he watched her. Mostly out of the corner of his eye. Not that she was unaware of his gaze, either. She finally turned to look back at him, smiling when he huffed a small laugh at her boldness. He reached out, then, slowly, hesitating.

But Kastiel leaned closer. She really did invite his touch and she closed her eyes, sighing when he ran his fingers along the side of her face until he cupped her cheek softly. The feel of his fingers gliding over the scars on her skin -- it made her stomach tighten into a warm ball of desire and her throat knot with remembering all at the same time.

"You're tired, Kas," Torian murmured quietly, watching as her eyes opened again to consider him. He looked very serious, his golden-brown eyes liquid as he took in the dark circles under the glint of her implants. She shrugged, refusing to deny the fatigue beating at her. But sleep was never something she chased as readily as she did the target of one of her hunts.

"So are you, Torian."

"Slept more than you have." He reached his hand back against the side of her head, until his fingers touched so softly the implants in her ear and he slowly caressed the curled curve of her ear, "We have a couple of hours yet before we move again. Sleep."

Kas grimaced, biting her lip as she looked away from him. She didn’t want to admit how much sleep frightened her. It was embarrassing, this ... weakness of hers. But she unconsciously drooped into his touch at the same time, enjoying the way the tips of his fingers smoothed softly along the lobe of her ear. She glanced back when he murmured a sound, saw the serious expression in his eyes. Torian grunted a bit of masculine satisfaction when she scooted herself even closer and lay her forehead down against his shoulder. She sighed as he stretched his legs out in front of them and moved his weapon closer to his side.

She yawned, closed her eyes as she listened to Torian begin to hum softly. She asked him quietly, already half-asleep, "What is that?"

"War chant. Called G _ra'tua Cuun._ Means 'Our Vengeance'. We sing it before a battle."

She closed her eyes, sliding down against his side as his chest rumbled slightly through the slow rhythm of his words. It was the rumbling sound of his voice, the gentle vibration it made against her cheek as he slowly, gently sang that finally soothed her into the dark edges of sleep.

" _Motir ca'tra nau tracinya._  
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.  
Aruetyc runi'la solus cet o'r prudii an."

" _Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame._  
Our vengeance burns brighter still.  
Every last traitorous soul shall kneel in our shadow."

* * *

Jicoln felt them coming like it was a buzzing energy in the muggy air all around him. He would've said it felt like a Jedi approaching, maybe – like that old magic working and reaching out to find him. The Jedi called it the Force. Jicoln thought it was just the harsh intent of a good, solid Mandalorian hunt. He leaned his head back against the stone of the wall's edge he climbed hours earlier, remembering the days when a hunt was a thing of joy, of pleasure. When he still dreamed, when he knew who and what he was. When he was still glad for it.

Now he was just … tired. The weariness ached through him, until his very bones were fatigued. But they were close, both of them moving together. And he refused to give up, to give in just yet. It wasn't in his nature to simply roll over and die. Even if a part of him would've been glad for it.

Jicoln grunted softly when he saw them pressing through the tall grass nearby the ruined wall where he had perched himself. Jicoln scowled when he saw the young warrior moving so solidly, his step strongly certain as he examined the ground in front of him. He was moving better after breaking so many ribs blood bubbled out his mouth, than Jicoln was even after the long days since their fight. He bent _easily_ , not even looking vaguely pained as he gauged the hard-packed soil at his feet for where Jicoln had stepped.

Artus' girl was even more of a prize than he imagined, Jicoln thought. Smart, determined, ambitious – all wrapped in a sweetly curved package -- and it seemed she was able to mend a man as well as she could break him _._

 _Damn you, Artus_ , he thought. Artus Lok didn't deserve such a child for his own. Didn’t. Fucking. Deserve. Her.

So when Jicoln saw her stepping up to stand just behind the young warrior, saw her resting her hand against his shoulder as she leaned over to consider what he found, Jicoln raged. All his anger, his most bitter, raging upset focused on her. The slips of control he had kept till now abruptly burned away. And he raised up his rifle to roughly sight down the scope towards the center of her chest.

The young warrior jerked his blonde head upright suddenly; his gaze shot swiftly, intently towards Jicoln. Like an ancient arrow spearing through the air, he found Jicoln unerringly. For just a moment, Jicoln found himself staring into those eyes, watched them flare wildly with protective determination through the long sight. And he _knew_ it was too late. Because that warrior would never let her be hurt.

Jicoln gnashed his teeth, yanking on the trigger of his rifle in frustration. But the younger man was already moving, grabbing at the hunter's slender waist and pulling her hard so that she tumbled down onto the ground underneath him. He curled himself over her, shielding her as he raised himself just enough to watch where the shot came from.

Jicoln yelled out a snarled sound of frustration when the bolt slammed uselessly into the ground, yelled aloud to the sky over his head, "Argh!" He jumped down from his perch, his rifle held up and ready as he ran at them. He would bash them with his fists if he had to, damn them!

The warrior stood up, his legs braced apart on either side of the woman as he lifted his electrostaff into a defensive motion and waited for Jicoln to reach them. That stance … Jicoln vaguely recognized the motion. As if he saw something so much the same on some other battlefield far from here. Who trained you, he wanted to scream. Wanted to know which one of his own _vod_ showed this man how to destroy him. And damn _him,_ too. Jicoln almost spit at him, "Damn _all_ of you!"

The woman bucked upwards suddenly, just enough that the Mando was forced to leap back out of her way. She growled over at Jicoln.

Jicoln snapped his attention to her, angry he forgot the real threat she posed. But he was too late. Kastiel made an angry sound as she activated her jetpack, flying at him in a burst of loud noise and smoke. She tucked her head down, using the force of her pack's momentum to drive her shoulder into Jicoln's chest with brutal power. He yelled out as the both of them tumbled backwards. The hunter moved with brutal, fired force, her jetpack flaring out behind her so that they were both propelled into a large pool of standing water. Jicoln sank like a stone, that damned woman still pressing into his armored chest. He yelled out wetly, hard enough the air he spent sent huge bubbles streaming upwards towards the surface of the lake.

The depth of his rage and anger helped him forcefully push back against her, hard enough they both shot back to the surface. Jicoln could hear that other Mando warrior shouting at them as he raced across the ground towards the water. But he ignored the man, rearing back to loom over the woman as he prepared to overwhelm her, bring her down for good. Damn it, he was bigger than she was, even!

But she was quicker. Kas lifted her foot fast and hard enough that droplets of water flew through the air, sending her boot flying into his stomach as brutally as possible. Jicoln gasped, only barely holding back a pathetic moan of pain as the healing wound that laced his stomach tore open all oer again. He could feel blood bursting around the edges of the bandage he only barely laid there. Jicoln rumbled out low cursing sound, " _Haar'chuk_." He stumbled slowly out of the water, knew she was following him. But she moved slower now, hampered by the water pooling up against her thighs.

But then Jicoln saw a flash of blonde hair, heard a low humming battle cry. The sound actually sent a thrill of sweet memory through him for the briefest moment, as he heard the yell, "Oya!" Jicoln bent low to avoid the swing of the warrior's staff. Then he reared up under him, driving his shoulder hard into the man’s gut and lifting him off the ground for a small moment. But it barely stopped him.

Jicoln watched, almost bemused, as that damn electrostaff swung up and around all over again. Like he was the rakghoul back there in that battle he watched the pair make weeks ago. It was a vicious twist of motion that ended with a cracking blow right over the bridge of his nose. Jicoln felt his nose give under the force of it, felt the bone break with a loud snap, and he stumbled backwards. He would’ve landed hard on his ass, except the woman suddenly caught him from behind and shoved him back until he stood semi-upright again.

"My fight, Kas!" The young warrior shouted the claim. Jicoln glared at him, outraged he had to stand there while they argued over who would make the killing blow.

Kastiel looked over at the blonde-haired warrior with narrowed eyes that glittered with real anger. Jicoln thought she might be distracted enough, and he started to step closer to her. Maybe he could fight her, take her down at the least. Better than dying all alone, anyway.

But then she shot her gaze back at him. Before he could make any single motion, even. Jicoln panted wearily as she raised a single fist in front of his face and deliberately prodded his broken nose with one single finger. Jicoln bit back anything more than a grunt of sour pain. She snarled angrily at him, “They called him _aru'tal_ because of you! To my face!" Kastiel looked sideways over at Torian, pointing at his father, "To my face, Torian! They wouldn’t let you even touch me! Because of him, because he left you there to face it alone! And then he made you bleed, too!"

Torian felt the thrill of it along his spine. How strongly she accepted him, her vivid and fervent protectiveness and possessiveness. Like she was blaring her intention over the sour length of the entire Taris ground and no one was allowed to deny her. Torian felt his blood pulsing, his heart racing as she made the declaration; felt his groin tighten with readiness to have her.

But he had to finish this first. He had to do it so that he was worthy of her. So that she never had to hang her head when she called his name her own. When she called him, "Mine." So he lifted his chin, "It's my fight, Kas. I have to finish this now. Don't take it from me."

But Jicoln staggered back from the both of them, dropped down onto one knee as he looked at them there. He felt blood trickling down over his upper lip and swiped it from his face dazedly. His stomach hurt, the wound there pulling, twisting with burning vividness, and he remembered with brilliant agony the way blood had framed Torian's teeth there on the _Spire_. "Torian …," he groaned out the name. His son’s name! _His son_!

He skittered his gaze across his son's face - the shape of his cheeks, his temple, the way his chin tilted as he spoke, the blend of pale skin tanned slightly by the Taris sun. Aily was there, in the thick hair Torian kept trimmed, in the shape of his mouth and the solid stance of his shoulders, his chest all puffed out as he stared back at Jicoln with his head held up. Jicoln saw Aily’s strength and her determination there in her son.

But he was there, too. Jicoln could see it, see his own offering in the color and depth of his son's eyes, the way they narrowed thoughtfully, carefully sizing him up. He saw his own refusal to surrender, saw himself in his son's visage. Jicoln groaned as he looked at him.

Artus had lied. He'd stood there on that field, gazing out over the expanse at the warriors gathered there in front of him. He looked at Jicoln and swore, told him what he would do if Jicoln pressed ahead. "He turns the screw one last time, sends my son to kill me. Like he sent my wife," Jicoln mumbled.

Torian spit against the ground at his father's feet, "Mandalore sent no one! He left you here to rot! No, Aily came because there was no other way. Because there was nothing else to do but fight. And I've come for the same. I have to make it right. I _have_ to! _You_ did this, you did! You left us with no way out but through your death!" Torian scowled, stepping back into a ready battle stance as he glared towards Jicoln. He cursed at him in smoothly cadenced Mando'a: "Do you even know what that is anymore, what it means to be one of the _Mando'ad_? Do you know what it is to have to fight for that every single day of your life, for the respect of your own people? Or have you forgotten, have you given up that much?"

Jicoln dropped his head. He wasn’t ashamed, not even then. Only tired, and sad. “Nothing else left to do,” she told him. And he finally understood. Jicoln said, "I made a good fight, an honorable one! There's no reason for you to wear your name like a badge of shame." He glanced at Kastiel, saw her watching Torian carefully. She was protecting him even then, determined to keep Jicoln from hurting Torian with even a word. Even that much. He inhaled slowly, breathed, "Hunter, I would like a moment to speak to … to my son. There are things I must say to him first."

He watched her eyes narrow, saw her fists clench. But she maintained control enough she didn't outright refuse him, either. A brief spurt of envy for Artus' having such a daughter – as intelligent as she was capable - once again rippled through him. But … it was hardly so intense, now. Not with his own son standing there in front of him.

Still, Kastiel was adamant as she stepped closer to him, glaring, "I swear to you. Cadera or not, old man. If you do anything that hurts him again, I'll make sure you die so slow you'll beg me for it before it's done. Do you understand me?"

Jicoln breathed evenly, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her. She stood there looking like a fierce wildcat of some sort, her dark eyes snapping furiously at him. And she reminded him of his own _riduur_ suddenly. Torian shifted, pressing closer to her. Jicoln warmed as he watched their silent interaction, the way they defended each other. Even if it was nothing more than a sharing, a brief feeling they passed one to the other. It was rare, he thought – even among the _Mando'ad_. Two halves come together to make a whole. Strength like that … Jicoln nodded, "I'll not cause him harm, hunter."

She looked towards Torian, her chin tilting aside as she pointed, "I'll be right there."

Jicoln watched her walk away, standing at a distance enough she could no longer hear what they spoke. But not far enough she couldn't shoot him if need be. He smiled slightly, a smile that disappeared when Torian slid between them to block Jicoln's line of sight. So that Jicoln couldn’t see her anymore. Torian glared at him, his nostrils flaring, "You will not touch her!"

Jicoln felt the shame curl through him, then. He remembered it wasn’t his broken ribs that hurt Torian so much in that fight. He looked away, hiding from the anger and protectiveness that stiffened Torian’s frame so strongly. "Artus lied to me about you. He said he would kill you, that he would rip you from your mother's breast and destroy you. I thought he did. I know now that he hoped only to stop me from going any further." He turned back to face Torian again, "Didn't work when I threatened your woman, either. You’re more like me than you'd like to admit, maybe."

Torian pushed his shoulders back, leaning against one solid boot as he regarded Jicoln. He grumbled, "There are many people who've tried insisting I am just like you, actually. The insults followed me my whole life. Korwis argued I was more like Aily, though. Better that way, I think."

"Korwis?" Jicoln pressed his lips together, his mind spinning. He glanced down towards Torian's staff, the weapon held loosely against his side. Aily would've taught him the basics about the staff, enough his natural battle stance would be reminiscent of her. But of course there would have been someone else to strengthen her initial training. He was glad it was someone he respected, "But he didn't give you his name?"

"Aily said no. Said I was supposed to show them Cadera honor, make it better. Can't do that if I'm adopted by Ordo."

"That's what she told me, too. No other way, she said." Jicoln looked seriously towards his son, "That's not changed, either. There's no other way. Even now."

Torian shook his head, "No. Honor demands you pay for turning aside from the Mandalore's rule. Bad enough you argued with him. But you lead men against him, too. That can't be forgotten. Nor forgiven. Mandalore's said you're _dar'manda_. He had to, or lose face among the clans. He demands honor, respects tradition. Too much to forsake it now." He glanced towards Kastiel, his eyes going warm as he looked at her, "My own children can't pay the same price that I did. I won’t let that happen, Jicoln."

Jicoln looked at the woman, too. She was watching them, her eyes dark and sullen with worry. Her black hair was braided against the side of her face where scars were etched just under the grey implants that stretched up into her ears. Jicoln grunted, "She's deaf, isn't she?"

Torian scowled at him defensively, "She fights just as hard without the implants. I saw it when your trap went off. It hurt her."

"Yes, I saw you both there. She couldn't hear when she fought like that?" He gaped over at the hunter, utterly ignoring the frown she sent to him in reply. Strength like that, skill like that – the warriors she'd make! "How'd you find such a female?"

"Saw her when she was six. Fighting for her life. And she won, even if _she_ says different. Korwis would've taken her, made her Ordo. But her blood father stole her away and hid her from the bastards seeking her." Torian looked over at her, pride lacing his voice, "It was Mandalore himself who made her Lok, after she won the Great Hunt."

"So it'll be Artus Lok's daughter who marries my son."

Torian spoke firmly, asserted, "I'm Aily's son."

"And that would be better, too. Her last words were of you." Jicoln sighed, remembering his wife, how hard she fought. He told his son, "I fought hard, to keep us from being servants of the Empire. Refused to be their puppets."

"We serve none. Not the Empire. But not the Republic, either. Mandalore encourages us to fight as we will, rather. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes not."

Jicoln shrugged, "Then perhaps my fight earned something worthwhile, made him think different. That's not what Artus told me when he took that name for himself, anyway." He sighed long, "I fought a good fight, Torian. I'm not sorry for it, because it was the right thing to do. You never deserved to pay the price for my failure, though. _That_ is what I regret, that I failed."

"A few years ago I wouldn't have understood." Torian looked down and away from Jicoln, his eyes skating towards Kastiel nearby. In her, he saw everything he ever wanted, everything he was determined to seize and make his own. To lose that, to have it taken from him, or to have it ruined somehow – it would break him apart. "I think I do now.”

Jicoln nodded towards the woman his son claimed. He eyed her carefully, the strength and character of her bearing as she walked towards them, took her place next to Torian. Her children would be his _bu'ade_ , his grandchildren; he could saw that promise burning in her. He only wished he'd be there to see them.

"I'm ready now. I'm so damn tired." He looked at Torian, lifted his chin high. " _Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadass'la._ "

Torian nodded as he stepped closer, accepted the blaster Kastiel handed to him. She looked at him solemnly. He knew she'd do it. If he asked her. He saw the look in her eyes, the promise there. Not the first target she had taken down, is what she told him as they were making their way towards this spot, this moment. But it was too important that he was the one.

Aily promised the clans, she promised Mandalore - promised them it would be a Cadera who finished it.

He looked at Jicoln. His father was proudly ready. Always ready. "I'll make our name something to be proud of again. I swear it," Torian promised. Jicoln just lifted his chin higher, compelling him. And the sound of the shot filled the air.

* * *

She watched the bright light of Taris' single moon as it slid gently across the sky. It was called "Rogue" by most people who knew the old stories. But so few really did.

Torian was still frozen, there, in front of her. She'd worked to cover Jicoln's body, carefully wrapping it in preparation for retrieval. Torian had helped her, smoothing the fabric over his father's face. But he was silent the entire while they went about the effort. Then he took up a still and thoughtful pose nearby a tall tree, and he didn’t move.

She stepped closer to him now, stepping quietly. But she came close enough he managed to reach around behind him and jerk her around to face him. Kastiel gasped as she looked up into his face, watched as his eyes gleamed golden down at her. She could hear him breathing, felt the puffs of air smoothing against her face as he leaned in close and inhaled deliberately slow all along her jawline.

Kas rasped breathlessly, "What're you doing over here, Torian?"

"Saying goodbye. Singing. You know the _aay'han_? There's a song to it. I sing it every night."

"Teach me."

He hummed slowly and the words slid against her, " _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_." She sighed, so soft, and her gaze melted into his. He watched her, hummed, "I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal."

She reached up, trailed her fingers across his jaw. His eyes burned, hard enough he blinked to keep from breaking apart. He sighed when she laid her mouth gently against his chin, tilted his head down to look at her. He moaned, " _Gar mesh'la_ , Kastiel."

"I'm not beautiful."

He grunted, "You are. You've always been. I'll show you."

"Really? When?"

"Every single day, every moment."

"My face …"

And that's when he finally grabbed at her lips with his. He pressed his mouth against the corner of hers and ran his tongue in a silken line along the pouty length of her lower lip. She sighed and he swooped in, tangling his tongue against hers.

He groaned into her mouth as her taste swirled through his senses, fired his blood. He nipped her lips, first the lower, then the soft, sensitive upper, felt her shivering against him. He nibbled a path from her lips down to her pert little chin, then along the line of her jaw, smoothed his tongue over the ridges of her scars, delighted when she sighed and leaned completely against him. He moaned again, breathing roughly, "No. I do believe your face is beautiful, too, Kas."

She dropped her head suddenly, pressing her cheek against the armor that covered his chest, and she stopped, panted harshly as she shifted against the burning in her belly and between her legs, “You confuse me."

She didn't see him smile since as she held her head low. But she sensed his amusement, all the same. He grinned down towards the top of her head, "I like knocking you off-balance, champion. It's rare to see it."

She playfully batted him against the shoulder, pushing herself away from him. But he grabbed at her hand, held her there as he looked at her seriously once again, " _Vor entye_. For today. I'm glad you were there."

Kastiel nodded, "Forever, Torian."  
It was a promise.  
And he took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la - a Mandalorian phrase meaning 'Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.'  
> Vor entye - Thank you
> 
> I included a link to a youtube rendition of "Aay'han" on my Facebook page; so feel free to listen to the music. Also look up "Gratua Cuun" if you get the chance. Bear in mind, where Torian is singing both songs here he's offering a low, humming version of the tunes rather than anything hard or rough.
> 
> That last little bit, btw. This felt like the right point to give them a first kiss, somehow. A healing of sorts. Maybe a "moving on". I just felt there needed to be more than "I need to be alone" while he went off. That always felt weird to me, shrug. Hope it worked.


	63. Welcome to the Madness

"Jicoln Cadera is dead."

Kastiel watched Artus form the words, testing the sound of them as they lilted terribly up into the air. His tone was heavy, laden with gravity and seriousness. She thought that he almost couldn't believe what he was saying, maybe. So he said it as much to convince _himself_ it was true. But it also seemed like he was practicing the words. No. Like he'd practiced saying them over many years, whispered them to himself. A wish, at first. Later on, a hidden fear and down deep inside.

And now Artus was hurting. Kastiel could almost feel his grief, as much as his unwillingness to show it was so real a thing. That he wanted to feel glad and pleased, but he only couldn’t and it hurt him instead. Like he'd lost something important he'd convinced himself wasn't needed or wanted. Now the friend who became an enemy was gone, and he was really startled to remember him and to miss him so suddenly. He was left to flounder, grieving and angry for it.

Kastiel stayed quiet as he struggled, watched him lower his head until his chin was tucked up against the edge of his chestplate. He closed his eyes, clenched them shut. And then he sighed, the sound heavy and resigned. Kastiel only shook her head, “ _Ah, Mandalore. You don't send death after an old friend without being sorry when it truly found him_."

At least Jicoln died better than most of her targets. He certainly didn't fall down to his knees over it, whining or wailing huge tears. He didn’t beg. And he got to speak to his son before it was done. Kastiel straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin as she addressed Artus firmly enough, "He died proud, Mandalore. Died with his head held up."

He smiled, grunted, "Can't imagine Jicoln dying any other way, though. He probably cursed me at the end, too. That _shab_ never gave up, and he never would. Even when I tried and threatened him to do it." He glanced away from the holo for a moment, then looked back with both his eyebrows raised up, "You shot him?"

"No. I didn't." Kastiel crossed her arms over her chest, "Torian Cadera put the bolt in him. Said he had to be the one, because Aily promised it."

Artus leaned back on the heels of his boots, nodding firmly as he remembered, "I was there when she did. She was a remarkable woman." He smiled towards Kastiel, "You remind me of her. Where's Jicoln's son now?"

"Torian's here. We brought the body back to this stinking Lake Garrison the Imperials insist on hanging around. I figure they're intent on keeping any living sane creatures from approaching, honestly. The rest of us just suffer along with them." She glanced over her shoulder at them, saw the two Mandalorians through the open doorway that lead out from the small shelter where they'd left her to address Mandalore in some semblance of privacy. Fett was leaning his head down as he considered whatever Torian was saying to him. The two warriors looked … strong, capable and dangerous standing there together. Utterly Mandalorian.

"He'll ask to join you, Kastiel."

She looked back towards Mandalore, her eyebrows raised up as she grinned, "Maybe I'll ask for him, rather."

Artus laughed, a loud rolling sound of amusement, "You would, too. You’re that bold." He shook his head as he contemplated her. "He won't be the first, though. You're a leader of warriors, a real _alor'ad_. They'll beg for the chance to follow you."

Kastiel shrugged, "Not sure I want a whole damned troop of warriors. Most of them annoy the crap out of me."

"But this one? You want him?"

Kastiel looked up at Artus. She easily heard the real question he was asking, and she didn’t hesitate, "Mandalore, there were days I can remember where I didn't want him. But that was a long time ago. I was five."

Artus smiled with satisfaction. Because once again, Kastiel chose that well. Of all warriors to claim, she chose one that Artus himself had watched and respected. He told her, "When they ask -- and they will -- you'll tell them I'm glad he's joining you. It's time for the Cadera _aliit_ to be healed, to be strong again. He'll do right by them, and it’s best if he does it alongside my _ad_." Kastiel shrugged. Anyone who tried insulting Torian to her face ever again, was going to be met with her fist planted across his jaw. Which was about as much interest as she gave to the inner workings and politicking of the Mandalorian clans. But Artus snorted at her, "He’ll worry about my approval, Kas. It's important to _him_. Remember that."

Kastiel stopped. She leaned her head to the side thoughtfully as she considered what drove Torian may be something she wasn't able to do, to give him. She couldn’t make the clans accept him, didn’t even know where to start. Oh, she knew about loyalty to family, and to friends – she understood that much. She had fought endlessly and her entire life to defend those she cared about.

But she failed over and over. She lost her mother and her father. She lost Gaib and Cam into slavery. She watched Khyriel beaten nearly to death, so many times. She saw Lusiel warped into one of those darkling Sith from her mother’s stories.

She failed them.  
And what if she failed again?  
_Khyriel_.

His name slid through her mind, her worry for him beating at her every time she stopped that long a time to think. The last time she touched Khyriel, he was just fourteen and bleeding on the ground from the marks Goran put on his back. The way they left him there to die … She carried him over miles back to the city, as he drooped against her neck and mumbled half-conscious words through lips that turned blue from loss of blood. And all she could think was, that she was too late to keep him safe enough. His blood ended up covering her.

She couldn’t fail him again. Not again. She certainly didn’t want to fail Torian, either. Kastiel couldn’t even stand the thought of him being hurt; it offended her thinking how alone he was all this time, in fact. At least she had Khyriel and sometimes even Lusiel to watch over. She knew they were still that close.

But Kastiel huffed finally. She tossed her shoulders back and looked up at Artus with her chin tilted determinedly. She would do whatever she could, give as much as she could. She would not give up, though. Not when the fights were so precious important. "There's a lot about Mandoes I need to learn. Torian will show me," Kastiel declared it.

"There are few I'd trust as much to teach you what Mandalorian honor means, _ad’ika_. Torian Cadera is one of them." Artus crossed his large arms across his beefy chest, making the armor there glint even through the harsh light of the holoterminal: "Jicoln was my friend once. I remember hunting with him when I was very young, when everything was still new. Seems so far away now, that time. I'm _glad_ his son will fight with you now."

She nodded, understanding. The Mandalore had recognized Clan Cadera's honor, was showing it by giving Jicoln Cadera's son the reward of joining his own _ad_ in her battles. The message would ripple out to all the clans -- that it was done, the dishonor set aside at last. Tradition's demand had been met and the price was paid. Kastiel turned away from the holoterminal. Artus watched her as she walked away, her shoulders flung back.

It was like watching something begin.

* * *

"You finally claim your own honor. And now you run away?"

Torian sighed inwardly as he hefted the pack against his shoulder and stared back at Jogo where he stepped in front of him. Torian shrugged lightly, "I'm walking actually." There were a few grunts and mumbles of amusement from the warriors who quickly gathered when they saw Jogo confronting him. Not that it helped soothe Jogo's temper, either. The expression he sent Torian was only darker for his teasing.

"You know what I mean." Jogo scowled at him, sneering, "You're still _aru'tal_ to me. Jicoln's dead body doesn't change you." Torian leaned against one solid hip, felt his electrostaff bumping the back of his thighs from where he'd locked it in place across his back.

"Doesn't change me anymore than his living body changed me, Jogo. It's my deeds that count, that make me. Not him." Torian glanced at the other warriors that gathered around them. He considered them, the slow nods they shared with him as he glanced sideways at them. It was Fett who respected him the most when he asked to follow Kastiel’s leaving, anyway. Fett nodded at him as a tight little smile twisted his lips, " _She's a good one to go after, Torian. She's sharp, strong. Show her what it means to be Mando, make her strength our own_." And the others were glad to follow Vorten’s lead. Most of them congratulated Torian for winning a place on the champion’s team.

Any warrior would be grateful to join Kastiel, he thought, looking at Jogo confusedly. Then he realized the truth of it, and he shook his head as he regarded Jogo’s raging features. Torian managed to win something so many of the warriors coveted -- a spot in the fights made by the Mandalore's _ad_ , in battles alongside the Champion. The blow to Jogo's pride was too extraordinary.

Kastiel didn’t make it easy for any of them, either. She was adamant after she spoke to Mandalore that Torian was welcome on her ship. Not a full troop of Mandalorians, not even another warrior. Just Torian.

Vorten Fett only nodded back at her. Torian imagined Fett was glad he didn't lose half his men to the young champion, actually. But the disappointment that swept through the Mandalorian encampment had been real enough, all the same. And now Torian watched Jogo's reddening face as calmly as he ever did, with his head cocked to one side.

Jogo wanted to scream. He felt the resentment welling in the face of Torian's continued patience, his cool disregard. Jogo clenched his fists even as bile rose in his throat, until he felt like he was choking on the bitterness inside of him. He lost control, snarled at Torian through a face twisted with anger, "You think to steal your place by planting yourself in the Champion's bed, huh? That's how you plan to win yourself honor, between her legs?"

Torian flushed, his eyes flaring brightly gold with offense. He lashed out a single fist, hitting Jogo solidly against the soft flesh of his mouth. He felt the give of Jogo's teeth, the spurt of blood against his knuckles, and he growled at him when he Jogo stumbled backwards, "Don't you dare, Jogo. You ever again speak of her like she's a piece of flesh to be bought and used, and I'll kill you." Torian watched coldly as Jogo leaned over to spit bloody goo onto the ground at Torian's feet. Jogo glared up at Torian from his bent frame, started to straighten again as he lifted his own fist.

But then a cackling voice interrupted the impending fight, "Heya, kid! Think you can stop playing with your little friends long enough to help me find the damn shuttle off this stinking world?"

The gathered Mandalorians turned nearly as a functioning unit, several helmeted heads and a few uncovered faces – all of them looking towards the red-skinned devaronian who stood there in muck-ridden clothes, clutching his sniper rifle in the crook of his arms. Torian shrugged, "Told you I'm no kid."

"Yea, well. I never claimed to pay too much attention to what you have to say, either." Gault stepped closer, leaning over to take Torian's pack off his shoulder and drop it against the ground, effectively freeing him to grab at his staff if the confrontation went any further, "So what's this? All packed up? Great! Cause she hates being late leaving a world, I'll tell you. Hey! You fellows may want to help your little buddy wipe the blood off his chin. You know, carry him out of here or something." Gault tsked as he leaned closer to peer at Jogo's face, ignoring the spattering of chuckles from the other warriors. Jogo glared at him, but it was the man named Kurt who punched Jogo on the shoulder, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Leave off, Jogo. I'd be careful, here. Torian's bad enough,” Kurt laughed. “I heard the champion threatened Porol when he used the word _aru’tal_ so she could hear. Knocked him clear off his feet and told him she’d rip his tongue out if he ever said it around her again."

Gault chuckled, "It’s not her fists you need to be worried about. If Kas gets real nasty, she sics her little monkey-lizard on you and the bastard chases you around for fucking ever. Trust me, Jogo. You got off lucky with that fat lip. Come on, Torian. Shuttle's this way, right?"

Torian stared quietly at Jogo for a moment longer, at the bruise forming against his lower lip. He nodded with satisfaction, before looking at Kurt with mute gratitude. Kurt grunted, briefly raising his chin towards Torian.

Then Torian turned, leaving them behind as he trotted after Gault. The Devaronian had grabbed Torian's pack and proceeded to drag it along the ground behind him, holding his rifle loosely against his shoulder. Torian huffed lightly as he grabbed the pack, slinging it over his back again as they made their way together towards the shuttle pad.

The Imperial standing guard against the ramp leading up into the shuttle was staring off at the still-milling group of Mandalorian warriors across from the landing pad as they approached, blatantly distrustful, "Bad idea to pick a fight with Mandalorians."

Gault laughed aloud, "And that, my friend, completely sums up my whole life. Picked one fight – one fucking fight! – and now I can't seem to get away from them, no matter how hard I try. Sheesh, even scarred my ass just to make sure I never forget such a sterling rule of thumb." The devaronian clambered aboard the shuttle, still chuckling as he went. He settled himself onto one of the benches along the wall of the transport, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the nearby Imperials by closing his eyes wearily. He loosed small murmurs of amusement intermittently, as the shuttle powered up and took off.

Torian settled next to the man, "Your hunt was good?"

Gault grunted softly without ever opening his eyes, "I was spotted once or twice. That damned agent nearly shot my other horn off! And he’s even better with a blade than a rifle … Gods! Wish I could've met the damn father who made them. Just imagine what genes like that will do to their kids!"

Torian stared at him. Gault opened one eye, blinking amusedly at the Mandalorian as he sat there considering it. Gault went back to laughing then, reaching out one hand to slap hard against Torian's armored shoulder, "I'm just saying. If her kids are anything like her or her brothers, you'll be one proud Mandalorian daddy someday. Them? They just don't quit, and they fight like all the Hells. Attitude like that's got to be in the blood."

Torian raised an eyebrow at him, "No guarantee I'll be _buir_ to her children."

"Oh, right … yea. Whatever." Gault leaned his head back against the wall of the shuttle, swaying gently as the transport moved towards the Imperial orbital station above Taris. "Have her tell you how we met, maybe. Then get back to me on the subject of her giving up on anything once she's made up her mind. Stubborn-assed woman!"

Torian narrowed his eyes as he considered him, "She shot you. Why?"

"To prove something to me."

"Which was?"

Gault looked at him, serious suddenly, "That Tyresius Lokei was dead."

* * *

"So every time I turned around, there's this Mando woman! She's like a mad little freak of a thing, complete with horns! Although her chest has this way of curving around whenever she’s jetpacking all over the place, too …" Gaibriel's dark head bent sideways as he hummed over the shape of a Zabrak woman's breasts. Kastiel rolled her eyes over the simplicity of his attention span.

"Gaib. Seriously. Can you concentrate for ten seconds over something more important?"

"Ah, Kas. Breasts are very, very important! There are men who will give up everything just for the chance to ogle a pretty set!"

"No shit. You should see them slack-jawed staring at them, even when they’re covered in armor. It’s hilariously idiotic,” Kastiel almost laughed as Gaibriel's face turned a mottled shade of red, his nostrils flaring wildly. He almost barked at her as he leaned closer to his holo, "Anyone even bothers you, and I'll break them in half!" She couldn't help it, then. Gaib watched, his lips pressed tightly together as Kastiel bent over laughing.

"You're such a hypocrite, Gaib."

"You're my sister."

"And does the Mandalorian woman who's tits you're admiring so much … does _she_ have a brother?"

Gaibriel slowly inhaled a deep breath, his eyes turning murky with emotion. Kastiel pondered him quietly, thinking how much different he was than their brother. Khyriel gleamed with dark intent, easily matching the most frightening shades the Empire. She knew he was a loyal Imperial, couldn't imagine him any other way. But Gaibriel? He was the light to Khyriel's dark, his spirit burning fiercely with some innate quality she'd seen only rarely over the years.

"No. She tells me she's the last of them. Something about an Imperial attack, says they were unjustly accused of betraying the Empire and were punished.” Gaibriel tried to explain. But he stumbled over the unfamiliar phrases, “Don't know how she put it … She said her _aliit_ – think that's the word she used – that her _aliit_ was destroyed down to the last. Except for her."

"What's her clan name?"

"Spar. She's called Akaavi Spar." Gaibriel clucked his tongue as he considered, smiling, "I like her, Kas. She's pretty sad a lot of the time but she'd hate for me to say that. And don't think I'm feeling any better about someone looking at you like you’re something to be used, either."

"Hypocrite."

"Damn right I am."

Kastiel grinned at him. Then she settled back, tapping her fingers against the terminal as she leaned over to consider the messages she received during the hunt on Taris. "I'll discuss Clan Spar with the Mandalore. But tell me more about Balmorra. You said there were weapons research using nanites? Is that what they did to Khyriel?”

Gaibriel fluttered his lips, making a loud, amusing noise. He scoffed, "The stuff they do on Balmorra is pure twisted, I kid you not. I’m surprised that world’s still in one piece. But no. Whatever they did to Khyriel is more chemical than technological, and I’m not exactly sure I understand how much and what crap they mixed together to fuck that much with his head.” Gaibriel scowled bitterly, “And I wish I could say it’s all the Empire. Looks like the Republic was prodding the development of the stuff, too. Found one young soldier who didn’t remember where he was from, even!"

Kastiel bit her lip thoughtfully, “So there’s no way to help him?”

“Please. You’re supposed to have _some_ faith in me, big sister,” Gaibriel clasped his hands over the center of his chest, pretending heartbreak. “That’s where the nanites come in, I mean. Since I couldn’t figure out the formulas the Empire used, I decided to focus on our Mister X … And how come he can’t get this damned gang lord off my ass, by the by?”

Kastiel stared at him, “What gang lord, Gaib?”

Gaibriel held up both hands, "Hey! I swear, it wasn’t me who stole those guns! And it was ages ago, to boot! I even shot the guy who did it! Not sure what’s got Rogun the fucking Butcher all bent so much out of shape where _I’m_ concerned.” Kas was quiet. And Gaibriel started jabbing against the holoterminal with one pointed finger, so that his image shook back and forth in abrupt glitchy jumps. "I swear, damn it!"

She just sighed.


	64. Taking Care of Business

Mako bent over to peer into the gaping lid of the pot, listening to the plop-plop noise coming from the thickening liquid that stewed over the heat source. She sighed heavily, tapping against the thick surface of the cooking pot with a slender stirring device, "I'm never going to get this right, damn it."

"What is it?"

Mako jumped when she heard the unfamiliar voice, spinning around with the stirring scoop held up like it was a dangerous weapon. Some of the softened _risha_ corn went flying off the utensil, landing against the nearby wall of the mess with a wet, squishing sound. Torian held up both his hands, biting his lip to keep from laughing at the sight of the small female, her battle stance rigid as she thrust the spoon out at him threateningly.

Okay, at least it was a _large_ spoon.

"I swear. I will not ruin your meal. There's no need to beat me," Torian managed to beat back any hint of a smile. But his tone dripped with amusement. Mako scowled as a blush spread across her cute face.

"I could beat you just because I want to, though, right?"

"You may certainly try. It would at least give me the chance to try out the sparring section down in the cargo hold."

Mako smiled then, "Oh, hell, no. Kas got me to spar with her once. Once. I'm so never fighting with a Mandalorian like that again if I can help it. She busted my nose when she tossed me over her shoulder! I'll stick to the navigation computers. Enough of a workout for me, thanks very much." She squeaked an alarmed sound then, spinning around to stir the pot's contents before the stuff really did burn. Torian stepped closer, looking at the brown contents with a critical expression. Mako muttered to him without looking up from her stirring, "I'm Mako, by the way."

"Torian."

"Yep, I know. Found some interesting vids of you." She smirked at him with a sideways glance, "Nothing too incriminating, trust me."

Torian frowned, "Vids?"

"Uh hmm," Mako nodded. "You should always be careful on Dromund Kaas. I came across a bit of blackmail, involving a silly twit of a girl who didn't want her husband finding out it was a Mando she lost her virginity to before they were married. Some spoiled rich bitch recorded the two of you going at it."

Torian snarled a self-disgusted sound as he looked towards the front of the bay, towards the hallway he knew led to the bridge just past Kastiel's quarters. He hadn't even thought much of that night. Or the woman – what was her name again? Leera, he thought. He hadn’t thought much past the brief hours he'd given her. He could barely remember her, even. Just a flash of blue eyes and blonde hair in his memory.

But he'd spit if Kastiel had seen such a recording …

"Oh, don't worry." Mako smiled when he turned his head to look at her again, "I destroyed the file. Kas never saw it. Easy enough, anyway. Messaged the stupid woman, too. Who the hell lets someone like that Samara bitch set her up for a romantic interlude with a Mando without suspecting something like blackmail, huh? Hey, she was at least smart enough to doubt _me_ when I spoke to her, till I told her I wasn't protecting her little butt so much as yours. She seemed surprised a Mandalorian would be able to access a slicer's talents, actually."

Torian stared at the little female. She wondered what he was thinking behind that impassive expression on his face. She was bemused suddenly, as she wondered what it was about this particular man Kastiel found so enticing. He was so different than every other male Kas cared about, all coolness and quiet. Mako tried imagining Torian sitting down with that outrageous smuggler of a brother Kastiel loved so much, down at one of the clubs on Nar Shaddaa. She just snorted, thinking, " _I so have to be there for_ that _meeting_."

"You would've been checking on me even before I joined the crew. Why?" Torian's query dragged Mako's attention back to him.

It also worked to expose his appeal, of course. Because he was just that quick at sizing up a potential threat and getting right down to the heart of it; and he never beat around the bush. At her core, Kastiel was a warrior and a fighter. She looked over a battlefield with dispassionate, calm eyes, sizing up her opponents, then bringing to the confrontation exactly that force which was necessary to win. Torian was a perfect foil for her -- a dominating warrior on the field, someone strong enough to match her, to meet her as an equal. Of course she'd want him.

"Because that's what I do, Torian.” Mako shook her head, “Oh, don't get me wrong. I can shoot a blaster pretty well. Kas made sure enough of that, not like Braden. He would've kept me hidden away behind a console forever and a day too, if he could've. He worried too much. But damn … Gods, I miss him." Mako shrugged a slim shoulder, smiling. "But I’m no fool, either. I’ll never be tough the way Kas is. She can take out a target and then move on, without worrying about it. I can’t do that. So I guard Kas' crew, her ship, her jobs – hell, her credits! And I’m good at it."

Torian watched her bend over the bubbling stuff in the pot, sniffing delicately and frowning. "But I wasn't any part of her crew," he said.

She slanted him a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth barely quirked into a twisted grin, "No, you weren't. You’re far more important to her than me or Gault will ever be, actually. You’re important to her like Khyriel's important. And Gaibriel. There are people she'd fight for, kill for. And then there's you and her brothers, her sisters. Those are the people she'd _die_ for, and not even be sorry for it, either."

Torian scowled harshly, "I won't let her die for me."

"Which is precisely why _I_ like you. Enough to keep anyone from using a damn vid that would work to shame you. Not that your performance was anything to be embarrassed about, either," Mako hummed. Torian sighed, blushing brightly as he looked anywhere other than towards the tiny woman. Mako laughed as she watched him. Then she regarded the contents of the pot mournfully. "Don't think this stuff's worth eating, honestly. Was trying to make a creamed _rishi_ corn soup. But it's looking more and more like a shit pudding. And smells worse."

Torian grunted, amused all over again, "Not as good with cooking as you are slicing."

"Hey, if you can do better, have at it! I'd be glad to leave the cooking to someone else around here." Mako waved one small hand in the most weary resignation, "I need to make a holocall, anyway. Preferably before Gault starts singing in the refresher like a banshee and wakes Kas up from that form of unconsciousness she calls sleep."

Torian twitched, his gaze sliding back towards front of the ship again. She was all alone, he thought. He didn't like the thought of it, of her struggling alone for just a smidgeon of sleep. He wanted to march down there, find her and wipe the smudged look from under her eyes; to hold her as she fell into a restful sleep against him. He closed his eyes as remembered the star-studded sky, a shriek from a rakghoul nearby, and the soft, pleasing warmth of Kastiel's breath against the side of his neck.

But he shook himself, watching as Mako padded over to the holoterminal set against a nearby wall. He'd take care of his hunter. In every way eventually.

For now, he bent himself to the task of creating a meal that would save them all from serious intestinal damage.

* * *

Kastiel jerked awake, nearly biting her lip as she came upright in the bed. Her entire body shook madly and dripped with sweat. She blinked blearily around her, letting the knowledge settle that she was in a safe place, that there were friends nearby. That her mother wasn't lying dead on top of her, that no blood dripped down to smother her. Where was Torian, and her mind skittered as her gaze darted around the room. Where was he?

But then she remembered.

Kastiel sighed, dragging herself from the tangled covers across the bed to stumble into the refresher. She eyed the sonic shower wearily, still feeling the dragging need for sleep that wouldn't be realized without even more bad dreams. Kas shuddered at the thought of closing her eyes again though, yanking her clothes off so that she could bathe the sweat off at least. Maybe she would eat something.

"Please don't let Mako be cooking anything," Kas muttered to herself as the vibrations worked against her bare skin to remove the grime left behind by her uneasy sleep. She dressed quickly, ignoring the screeches coming from belowstairs, where Gault was battling yet again with Quinnie. She could hear him shouting, "Fiend! Get your fucking fingers out from there. No! Damn you, give that back! Mako! Come get this little bastard of a thing before I shoot its tail off! Argh!"

Kastiel grinned as she pulled her chestplate out from behind the bed where she'd tossed the thing before tumbling unconscious onto the mattress earlier. She eyed the piece even as she opened the door, looking carefully for any dents or scratches. And then the smells hit her, sending her taste buds into tingling ecstasy.

She actually trotted towards the mess, emerging into the open bay just as Gault rushed up the stairwell. He was waving a white shirt striped with sparkling silver threads, the bottom lining flapping sorrowfully around a large rip in the seam. He began barking, "Look what it did to my shirt! My new one! Damn it!" Then he stopped and sniffed, "What is that?"

Kas smiled slowly, looking across the bay towards the mess. Mako was sitting at the table and shoveling food into her face. Quickly, like she was afraid someone would eat it all before she got enough. Gault plopped himself into one of the chairs, actually sitting on that same white shirt as he grabbed a plate. But Torian only watched Kas, who ambled towards the table still holding her chestplate. He raised his chin as she came closer, "Damage? To the plate?"

She looked down at the chestplate, shaking her head, "Not sure yet, actually. After I eat."

Mako grumbled around the food in her mouth, "Better eat now. It's good."

Torian pushed a chair out for her, watching her settle into the spot as she glanced across the table. There was nerf meat, ground up and shaped into a loaf. _Manta pears_ soaking in some kind of syrup. A large bowl of _mounder potato rice_ , of course – a typical side dish for nerfloaf. All of it, and Kas' favorite beverage, too. Blue milk from Tatooine. Mako must have re-stocked the supplies recently. Kas sighed happily as she fell into the meal.

Mako leaned back first, utterly replete as she rubbed her hands smoothly back and forth across her full stomach. She moaned, "Gods, I am never cooking again. Sorry, Torian. You're stuck with the job. Forever …"

Kastiel glanced across the table at Torian, watched him spinning a fork through the mound of rice on his plate so that it adhered to the beef before he raised it up to his mouth. He caught her gaze then, and shrugged as he chewed his food. "I like cooking," he admitted.

"Oh, it shows, trust me." Gault almost sang the words, his face nearly buried in his plate.

Kas shook her head as she returned her attention to her own meal. Mako was tapping on a datapad, scanning several messages there slowly. Every so often she grumbled something hard to hear, although Kastiel listened to her. "Quesh? Sounds like a vegetable of some kind."

Mako chuckled, "No, it's a place. A Hutt planet, looks like."

"Definitely not green and leafy, then. Probably makes people sick. Like, don't-drink-the-water-cause-it-induces-interior-bleeding sick."

Mako tapped against the datapad again, smirking, "You're still thinking of food, rather. For someone who likes food that burns up her insides, you sure have a thing for vegetables. Should have seconds, maybe.” She glanced down at the information on the display again, “Anyway. Looks like a job."

Kastiel reached for the plate of beef. She grabbed another slice of the meat, smiling when Torian grunted happily under his breath. She remarked, "You know I don't trust Hutts, Mako. Fucking slugs always cause trouble."

"No, not the Hutts. It's a private corporation that wants us to meet them there, rather. Adascorp, out of Arkania, actually. They want you to help market their new line of adrenals."

Kastiel raised an eyebrow, scoffing, "They want me to _what_?"

"Act as a spokesperson for their product." Mako pursed her lips, eyeing the message carefully, "The offer appears legitimate, Kas. And it's healthy. We're talking a large sum, here."

Gault chirped, sounding like a damn bird all of a sudden. Kastiel narrowed her eyes at him as she realized he'd gone a good half an hour without a single complaint. A record, for him. He sang, "Easy credits, Kas. The best kind!"

Torian snorted, "Not how I'd like to be remembered."

Gault elbowed the Mando, ignoring Torian’s grunted complaint, "Hush, you! Kas, just think … no rakghouls! No stuffy nobles! Hell, no Sand People! Good times."

She shook her head, harrumphing, "Nope. Just Hutts. Lots of Hutts. Remind me to tell you about some Hutt named Whuttle that I once worked for … He liked to whip his younger humanoid slaves with the end of his tail. Said the sound of their crying was funny. And you're fooling yourself if you think we can go to this Quesh and not have to deal with a bunch of the worms."

Mako clucked her tongue, "Just take Torian with you. Even Hutts would hesitate to fuck over a Mandalorian _team_. One Mando, maybe. But two together can be deadly as shit." She tapped the table with a small fingertip, "But seriously, Kas. The sum promised just to attend the meeting is incredible."

Kastiel leaned back, her head cocked sideways as she thought. "Don't know, Mako. I don't even use adrenals. Never seen the need."

"So let them talk to you, eat their food and drink their expensive wine. Then you take their credits and leave. No harm, right?" Mako held out the datapad for Kastiel to review, watching as the hunter skimmed through the wording with precise care. She knew Kas would remember every word of the proposal, exactly the way it read.

Kas murmured to herself as she was reading, "Bloodworthy said the bounty for the hunt on Taris would be in our accounts by today."

"This morning, actually. He was right – that pot had grown substantially over the years. It's the largest sum we've collected. Until the next black list bounty, maybe." Mako was nearly trembling with giddiness as she sat there, “I’m still stunned we get to take on these hunts.”

"Well, then. It seems we have some time to waste, and then we'll fatten our pockets. Torian? You mind going with me?" Kastiel glanced across the table at him, watching the way his eyes lit with amusement at the question. Of course he'd not turn down the chance to spend time with her. "I know you're not keen on the actual business, I mean. But Mako's right. No harm in taking their credits for the meeting. Don't plan on being any sort of spokesperson. Whatever the hell that's supposed to be."

"I'll watch your six," Torian shifted his gaze down over her frame as she leaned over the table to take a bite of food. The motion made the brief tunic she was wearing gape slightly just along the top edge, so the slender curve of her neck and collarbone was obvious. He slowly ran his tongue along the inside of his lip, remembering Kastiel on the Spire. With her arms crossed over her naked torso and dripping. And he hissed softly.

Gault yelled suddenly, startling all of them as he reached out to grab at Quinnie. The monkey-lizard had climbed up onto the table to grab a thick handful of nerfloaf. But he shrieked shrilly when Gault gripped his tail and yanked, trying to hold onto the platter of beef with his tiny hands. The food went flying as Gault pulled the creature back and then off the table, all of it falling onto the floor with a loud, terrible noise that sent Two into its own shrieking frenzy as it began calling out loudly, "I'm so sorry, Master! I'll clean the floor immediately!" The cacophony raged for several long moments, especially when Mako cheered the monkey-lizard on, insisting that it defend its prize.

"Kas! Call it off, damn it! The fucking beast just bit my ass!"

Kastiel burst out into gales of wild laughter as the devaronian whined loudly. "Serves you right, Gault. You should've let him have the leftovers, not dumped it all onto the floor."

"Thing shouldn't be on the table! Bad enough he invades my bunk, shreds my favorite clothes – and how the hell does he know which ones are my favorite, anyway? – but my meals, too? Bah!" Gault actually stood up straight so he could stomp a foot angrily, trying to smash Quinnie's tail under his heal. Instead, he pin-wheeled when his heel swiped across a piece of loaf crumbled against the floor. Even Torian choked on a laugh when Gault spun in place for several maddening moments, certain he'd tumble to the floor. Gault glared at them all once he regained his balance, "I really do hate you. All of you!"

They watched him march away determinedly, laughing when the beef stuck to the bottom of his boot squelched with each one of his steps. Torian chuckled as he waved towards the small monkey-lizard, then. The creatures, he knew, were fairly rare off their home world of Kowak. They tended to attach themselves to a single individual if they did leave that planet. He was hardly surprised that this one seemed to adore his own Kastiel.

"Hello, little beast." Torian held out a single piece of _manta_ pear, coaxing at the creature he knew was intelligent enough. "I'll make a deal with you. Stay off the table during mealtimes. And I'll ensure you get a plate of your own afterwards." Quinnie reached for the pear, but Torian held it up out of its reach. "Agreed?" The monkey-lizard huffed, before trilling an agreeable sound as it held out its hand. Kastiel laughed lightly.

"Careful, Torian. He's never liked any man before. Always torments them."

Torian regarded her with amusement, "He was only jealous. But he knows I've won that particular fight already. We'll get along."

Mako laughed when Quinnie snuggled down on the bench seat next to Torian’s thigh, happily munching his fruit. Kas sighed, “Figures you’d charm him, too, Tor.” And Mako chuckled again when she realized Kastiel never disagreed with Torian’s assertion he’d already won her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manta Pears were a type of fruit, often made into a syrup.  
> Risha Corn was harvested on the planet of Rishi, in the Outer Rim. It was often used to make creamed soups.  
> Nerfloaf was basically a meatloaf made from nerf beef.  
> Mounder Potato Rice was a Corellian side dish, one that Han Solo didn't like.
> 
> As a sidenote, too, some PM's once asked me about Torian's eye color as I describe it, here. So, yes, I do realize Torian's in-game character typically has blue eyes. Unless you use a character customization option, of course. However, the first time I played the bounty hunter story during the Beta, Torian's character shown as brown-eyed. I thought he looked even better with brown eyes, could never figure out why the developers changed that. Nor even if they did - maybe my personal game was bugged, who knows? But I've always thought of Torian as brown-eyed ever since.


	65. Tempting can be Serious Business

Moff Dracen slid his beady eyes in a long appraising look down the bounty hunter's armored form. He glared only briefly at her helmeted face, bitterly suspicious of anyone who's expressions he could not judge for himself. It was bad enough so many Sith loomed over him with their faces carefully hidden behind twisted bits of metal. To entrust the success of his command's endeavors to a mere mercenary was even more difficult. Although he could hardly call her a mere mercenary, either.

Dracen watched her companion step closer to her, looming there against her back until she was within careful reach of him. The man might as well have announced he'd kill anyone who tried to threaten her, Dracen thought to himself, amused. The man's helmet was painted with pale browns and golds, in two wide stripes that curved along the very top of the armor. The colors didn't exactly match the woman's darker green and brown paints. But they still managed to look together like a coordinated pair. They'd be tough to beat, he thought. And that was even before he took into account who she was.

They were calling her the Mandalore's daughter. Adopted, of course. But he'd personally seen that one fight. Artus Lok was a fierce and tenacious opponent to those he battled on the field. He couldn't imagine Lok would take some weak-willed or inept woman to call his own daughter, though. No, this Mandalorian woman would prove a valuable and worthy asset. So he'd use her. Hard. To her fullest capacity, and right from the start, too.

"They told me you wanted a meeting, Moff. I have business of my own here on Quesh, so best if you let me know what it is you need and quick." Her voice was only slightly muffled by the helmet. But she sounded young. Brash, maybe. Definitely disrespectful of an Imperial Moff. Dracen's officers obviously thought so. Major Faradin was nearly trembling with agitation, so that he almost stabbed the air with a single pointed finger.

"How dare you! We don't need any mercenary help. Your _kind_ isn't welcome here," Faradin sneered at the woman, almost leering as he leaned in to gesticulate towards her. She remained unflappable, though. She only shrugged lightly as she looked back at the threatening figure the Major tried to appear. Probably not so unusual for her to be derided, Dracen assumed. Still, her cool demeanor was enough to impress Dracen even more. Her value was swiftly rising.

"Well, if you've got it all wrapped up and tidy, I can move right along then. And thanks," the woman turned as if to leave through the wide doors at the front of the conference area, utterly unconcerned. But the Moff called towards her back, "Faradin thinks he can lure the Republic into compromising their position, sending out their best into more vulnerable circumstances. Mere theatrics, really." He frowned tiredly towards the major, "Brutality, carnage – that's how you break the Republic. They lack the will to sustain the fight through real devastation."

That, and it would soothe the sense of bitter insult that had sat in Dracen's stomach like a leaden stone since his mission had become hopelessly bogged down in the face of a Republic response none of their reports from Imperial Intelligence had anticipated. Why they were fighting so hard over such a waste of planet was bemusing. But it didn't change anything. General Korvan was hunkered down in a series of old barracks those nasty Republic miners used, making the place a real operational headquarters. From there, he sent out soldiers and fighters of his own to harry Imperial efforts. It was infuriating.

But the woman hunter only shrugged again, unperturbed. Her man stayed quiet and calm, too. Dracen wondered if it were a common thing, for a Mandalorian to accede so much control to his woman. Strange people, he thought. The Mandalorian champion told him, "Have to be clear what you want me to do, Moff. If the pay's good, I might even do it."

Faradin almost growled when his anger yet again overruled his common sense, and he came very close to shouting at the female. Dracen thought about slapping the man but he refrained. He only listened to Faradin screeching, "Like a leech, no less. It's bad enough we're here working with the Hutts. But now we have to deal with these filthy savages as well, Moff?"

The woman crossed her arms across her chest as she turned her head slightly to say something to the other Mandalorian. They jabbered back and forth in that strange guttural language those savages clung to so stubbornly, refusing to share it with any outsiders or translators even. But there was a hint of amusement behind the conversation, too.

She finally nodded at the man before turning back to face Dracen again, "You’re working for the Hutts. And I don't _like_ Hutts."

He scowled, surprised at her refusal. And it was a refusal. She was really going to walk away. Was she holding out for more credits, perhaps, he wondered. "Really? I was under the impression you'd worked closely with Nemro. He makes mention of your name quite regularly."

"Oh, I bet he does. The fucking slug. Hell, he's half the reason I've made it a point to avoid working with them." She rolled her shoulders lazily, "They're a pain in the ass, Moff. Trust me."

Dracen began to reply. But a twi’lek voice suddenly interrupted him, "That is truly a shame to hear. Because my master, Graag the Hutt, is eager to solicit the aid of the Champion of the Great Hunt in this oh so worthy endeavor." Dracen subsided, grateful for the disruption. If only to allow someone else the opportunity to beg the damn woman for her support.

"Great. A Hutt with a twi'lek slave. How original," the hunter drawled sarcastically. Faradin growled angrily all over again. He probably would have said something loud and offensive once again. But Dracen pointed at him, determined he would finally shut up.

The yellow skin of the Twi'lek glimmered in the pale light of Dracen's conference room as he bowed low, carefully hiding his small smile from the gathering of dangerous characters arguing amongst themselves. His lekku shivered in the wake of Faradin’s near-outburst, as he crooned appealingly, "Indeed." Then he glanced up at the hunter, and he started gibbering at her in twi'leki.

The Moff was startled. Not by the use of the language – which their Imperial translators easily discerned, of course. It was more that the hunter didn’t appear to _need_ the translators. And that the slave seemed to understand about her already. The slave told her, smiling, “Not everyone is perfect enough to brag of long perfect headtails, of course."

The woman laughed out loud, "You're funny enough, at least. Go ahead then. I'll listen to your spiel."

The Twi'lek rose again, smiling tightly this time. He intoned very properly, "My master is pleased to offer a prize beyond compare to the Champion. If she agrees to assist in the absolute destruction of the Three Families here on Quesh. The prize is a minor character, one that the Champion has been hunting without success over many months, in fact. To be delivered, upon receipt of the heads of the Hutts called Broga, Jeelta and Portho."

The hunter sighed with overly dramatic flair, "There are precious few characters, especially minor ones, that I'm terribly interested in. And I can’t think of even one I’d be willing to work for your Hutt master to nab, either."

"He's called Zee. A relatively unimportant slicer from Nar Shaddaa. Although we're well aware of his value to you, Champion. We imagine you'll provide him a fate as delicious as the one you provided his master, the Eidolon."

She froze, looked for a moment like nothing as much as a Mandalorian statue. Her chin went low then and she became deadly intent. Dracen felt a quiver of excitement edge up along his spine, as the real danger this woman posed suddenly became clear, distinct, and utterly real. Hell, even Faradin actually stepped backwards out of her way. Like he was trying to avoid her attention now.

"The Bith," she muttered.

"He is. He approached the Cartel after you failed to deliver up the Eidolon to them. Most unfair of you. But the Bith managed to evade your hunt. It's proven beneficial to maintain control of him all this time. Now he's become valuable enough, a reward for your time and assistance. Yes?"

She was quiet for a time, leaning there on one curved hip as she regarded the slender twi'lek man. Dracen watched as her companion stepped even closer to her, close enough their shoulders touched only briefly. Dracen heard him grunt softly after she inclined her head towards him, and they mumbled together using that Mandalorian tongue.

Then Kastiel leaned forward, and she announced: "Yes."

* * *

Kastiel's boot squelched in the muddy ground. She grimaced as she looked down towards her feet, eyeing the soil saturated with water she could tell was murky with some sort of … oily … _stuff_. She sniffed, determined to avoid getting the crap anywhere near her actual skin. She scratched against the bottom edge of her helmet, feeling her breath wash back against her face as she bent her head back to look up at the eddying swirls of dirty-looking clouds overhead.

Torian smiled, she could hear it in his voice as he leaned closer to talk to her. She had insisted he speak only in _Mando'a_ to her so that she'd learn the language as quickly as possible. But he was still surprised how quickly she was picking up on the nuances. "You'll be more comfortable once you grow accustomed to wearing it, Kas."

She grunted, "Still. I'm glad for our sparring matches wearing the things."

"I like sparring with you, too. A lot." Torian looked away when she tossed him a startled glance, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He hadn’t been certain how Kastiel would respond to his courtship. If she’d been raised Mandalorian, she would have bluntly accepted his overtures. Or not, if she didn’t want them. Because she would know, that a Mando didn’t offer a potential pairing unless he intended it to be real and lasting.

But Kastiel was still learning what it meant to be Mandalorian. And Torian knew enough, from talking to Gault unfortunately – that Kastiel’s experience with men’s … Heh. Well, Torian knew no man had ever really _courted_ her. Gault told him they were cruel to her, and then he told Torian how. It was enough for Torian to want to find every last one of those men and tear them into little pieces, at least.

For now, he enjoyed every one of her reactions to him. She pleased him, with her kittenish responses. She blushed or hid her face uncertainly; or she flirted and teased him in turn. He was never entirely certain what she would do; except everything she did just ended up being right.

Torian stopped suddenly and clicked his tongue, his head going up as he noted the smallest movements through the foliage up ahead. He hunkered down next to a rock outcropping with several sparse bushes that jutted sickly into the air. Kastiel leaned over his back, both of them sighting down towards the cave opening into the mine where Republic’s miners and their guards could be seen working. The flurry of information between their separate helmets flew fast, so that their digital arrays stayed bright behind their faceplates.

Torian grumbled, "More of them than we thought. The Republic's keeping their miners busy. And they've increased the number of guards watching over them."

"With someone like Mister Brutality-and-Carnage running the Imperial show here on Quesh, that's no real surprise."

"Succeed though, and we make the Imperials happy enough."

"Don't care about the fucking Imperials." Kastiel frowned, "I'll just be happy to get that damn Bith's neck under my boot once and for all."

Torian leaned back, so that Kastiel's armored chestplate squared neatly against his shoulder blades. He subtly rubbed himself against her front until she loosed a small sound, needy. She tried looking down at him, but the very front of her helmet bumped against the top of Torian's. He huffed an amused sound up at her, and Kas grinned over his playfulness. She murmured, "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

Kastiel smiled, "Of course." She leaned closer, close enough to ghost her fingers across the soft place under his arm up against the very top of his ribs. Where no armor protected him from the sensation. He almost bit his tongue to keep from groaning. She muttered low, "I always appreciate the games you play with me, Torian."

He glanced to the side, looking over his shoulder at her. Her heat signature smoothed across his viewplate, so that he marveled for a moment at the vibrant colors of her aura there behind him. He blinked, mumbling a verbal command to switch the vision mode of his visor so that he could see her normally again. Kas patted his shoulder, moving backwards and out of sight of the mine below. Torian skirted to follow her.

They settled eventually against a nearby tree out of sight of the mine, and Kastiel glanced at the dark stains of pollution against the tree's pale bark, "This place is disgusting. It’s really too bad the Hutts pay so well."

Torian breathed out, maneuvering carefully until he rested next to her. He watched as some sort of lizard animal rooted through a dirty-looking pool of water nearby. He idly wondered what the thing was called. He asked her, "Why the Bith, Kas?"

Kastiel glowered behind the faceplate that covered her features. She felt the hot wash of air against her chin when she huffed, even, "Because he deserves it. Because he gave up to that damn bastard Eidolon someone who needed my help. Because that kid paid for the self-serving piece of shit's snitching with his life. Because I had to look at that boy, lying there with half his face ripped off."

Torian breathed out slowly, eased one hand until it laid against her thigh and he could tap the armor there with a few gloved fingers. He listened as she sighed unhappily against the memory, "You blame yourself, though."

She hesitated. "I promised him, though. I said I’d take him from there, and he was so excited over the chance."

"You can’t always stop them from dying." Torian heard the lizard thing snuffling through the watery plants, slurping noisily. He told her, "Korwis died in the arena on Geonosis. He was gored by a Reek. It stomped on him after he fell, too. It was too much damage for healing, and it was fast. He lived just long enough to tell me he always thought he was like my father. I'd never felt as alone as I did right then."

Kastiel pressed Torian's hand flat against her thigh, held it there as she whispered breathlessly, "I looked for you."

He smiled behind his faceplate, enjoying the press of her fingers against his palm. "I know you did." That bit of insight didn’t come from the devaronian, though. Mako mentioned it when she snatched up a bit of the breakfast Torian prepared earlier in the day and munched happily, said it was too bad Kastiel didn’t manage to find him sooner. Kastiel threw a pancake at the small cyborg for exposing the secret, and Gault laughed when syrup splattered on top of Mako’s head.

She bumped the side of his helmet with her own, "What happened to the Reek?"

"I killed it. It became my _verd'goten,_ my blooding. I was considered a warrior after, so I went to fight with Clan Ordo, Corridan's troop. Worthy _alor'ad_ , Corridan." He nudged her shoulder, pressed himself firmer against her side, "You remind me of him." She grunted over hearing another Mandalorian insisting she become some fancy captain. Kas muttered, "The Bith won't prove as much a challenge as your Reek, I bet."

"Not for you, no." Torian rolled back to his feet, holding out one hand to help pull her up to stand next to him. "But … you have to recognize your strength, your own ability. You're a warrior worth following, a leader. Even the best _alor'ad_ lose people. You can’t fear that kind of failure."

She tensed hard, refused to look at him as she scanned the nearby terrain. "I've failed too many times already, Torian. I’d rather die than fail again."

And that's when Torian went rigid, suddenly angry. He reached out to grip her arm, pulled her close to him and shook her slightly. She could almost feel him glaring at her from behind that dark faceplate, "Your fight is mine, Kas. So if you fail, I'll be right there."

She slowly slid her gaze across his helmeted face, grunting, "Didn't you just tell me sometimes you can't stop them from dying?"

"Exactly. So what would you do if I fell?"

"No." Her refusal was strong and adamant, welling up from that dark and terrible place inside of her that she couldn't truly put a name to. The place where she shoved all those things from her mind that she didn't like considering. Fears, rages. Terrible things she hid from except in her nightmares.

"Then don't speak to me about your dying, Kas. You’re not alone anymore, and I will _always_ fight for you. Remember that." Torian spun on his heels. She was trembling when he turned away, looking back in the direction of the mine. And she followed after him when he moved off.

* * *

"You're really starting to piss me off, Devaronian."

Gault grinned toothily at the pale-skinned Rattataki female. Cute little thing, all slender and firm but curved just right, too. He wondered what the tattoos etched into the slim features of her pretty face were supposed to represent. Clan? Affiliation? Gang? He considered asking her. Then he decided that really wasn’t a good idea. Not when her dark eyes blazed back at him like that. He opted to sing-song at her. Or just annoy the shit out of her. Either way was good. "Heh. Wow. Must be lucky, hmm, that we keep bumping into each other like this."

The green-skinned dancer on the table in front of him gyrated slowly as Kaliyo stood there with her hands clenched on her hips. Gault glanced at the pretty Twi'lek to let her know he was still bopping along to her beat, while he pretended a lack of interest in the Rattataki's ramblings. It was hard but he worked hard to keep whatever conversation they shared low and quiet.

"Fuck you, you horned freak. I want to know why you're following us around." Kaliyo effected a properly deadly look as she leaned forward, until she was pretty much bent over to stare at him intently. He thought she should just bare her teeth so it looked like she wanted to bite him, rather. But Gault only grinned wider as he scooted his chair even closer to her, until their faces were mere inches apart. She blinked at him, caught off guard at his incredible lack of trepidation or concern.

"Have you considered I'm just that fascinated with your pretty little face?" Gault laughed when the Rattataki literally growled at him in frustration, "Seriously, you sweet little nugget. I'm working. Latest job brought me here to this shit-hole of a poisoned world. That's all."

"Really? What line of work you into?"

"Whatever pays the bills, actually. Or keeps my head attached to my shoulders, more often. I’m not big on moral rules, anyway."

She bounced backwards when Gault reached out to tickle his tongue against her chin, shivering. "Stop that!"

"Oh? You sure you don't want to see how far it reaches? I promise it's impressive. Even by devaronian standards." He smirked at her as her eyes sparked with interest. Such a tantalizing creature, especially when he knew good and well she was dangerously lethal. A crazed anarchist, was what X called her.

He had decided Kaliyo was worth playing with, for the sheer challenge of seeing how much and how far he could take the game. Gault wasn’t really trying to hide himself from Kastiel's little brother, anyway. He just stayed close to Khyriel at every turn, intermittently taking down whatever Republic shit-for-brains he caught sight of that monitored the agent.

But it was strange and disconcerting how unaware Kaliyo seemed to be about those threats, too. It was like Khyriel himself didn’t trust her that much. So she prodded Gault as much to figure out what was going on, as anything.

Besides. Kaliyo was the sort of witch who’d bank on her pretty-as-hells face to get closer to him, and maybe cozen some of Gault’s secrets. He doubted she would share them with Khyriel, if she managed to get them, either. But it would be fun to play with her in the meantime. " _Around and around we go_ ," he thought, running the forked end of his tongue back and forth across his lips in a tantalizing invitation.

Kaliyo watched it with an increasingly fascinated gaze, her curiosity heightening, sparking brightly. But she still shook her head, "Tell me who sent you?"

"Sent me? Oh, my sweet dear. I'm here at this damn orbital station negotiating for a load of adrenals typically used by soldiers. To help stop bleeding, I'm told. It's all very scientific and far beyond my ability to understand. My boss is somewhat of a medical expert, though, and she insists the things are worth gold." Gault stabbed the air with a pointed finger. Like he was making a vivid declaration, “Complete with sponsorship!”

"You're smuggling adrenals?"

"Me? Smuggle adrenals? I'd never think to get past the keen eyes of the Imperial military with something they deem so valuable, oh no. Not me." He tsked, using his tongue to make more dramatic smacking noises. Dramatic enough the red muscle actually quivered in his mouth. He almost laughed as her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"You're lying."

"Am I? Well, I _am_ a decent enough liar. I'd be glad to lie to you some more, if you'd like. I do have a room nearby."

Kaliyo smiled dangerously as she leaned over to whisper into his ear, nipping at the lobe there. She wanted to beat him at his own game, coerce the insights she needed from him. And he was only a man. Men were easily lead around and simply beaten before it was done. Usually … Kaliyo shook herself, refusing to think about _him_.

She rubbed her round breasts back and forth against the devaronian’s muscled arm, "Your efforts at distracting me are such delicious things. I look forward to seeing if you can … keep it up."

Gault let his horned head fall back as he laughed loudly, drawing the attention of several of the Imperial soldiers gathered there in the tiny little cantina set into a corner of the orbital station. He slithered a smile towards Kaliyo again, "Let's test it out, hmmm?" Gault hummed as Kaliyo ran a slim hand down his front to crook a finger into the lining of his pants.

"That's the best idea I've heard all day, devaronian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Reek was a large bovine beast with huge horns and a scaly hide. It was normally a herbivore, used as a meat source. But when used to oppose gladitorial combatants in an arena on Geonisis, the animals were fed meat, turning their hides a dark red and making them much more aggressive. You can see a Reek attacking Anakin Skywalker in Episode 2.


	66. Jedi Make Mistakes Too

The pictures didn't do her justice, he told her. He spoke politely, of course. Words that could've meant … well, anything, really. But Dahl truly was surprised as he regarded her, as he ran his eyes down her frame slowly, smoothly. She turned her dark head around to address her companion, so that the braid which ran down the side of her face fell forward against her scarred neck.

Dahl frowned as he looked at the scars, trying to identify how they were made. A thick rope, perhaps. It looked like she'd been hanged. When she was still a child of course, because the scars were years old. Dahl pressed his lips together, feeling uncertain and off-balance. Especially now that he faced her. This mission felt off from the very start; like some threat was looming, and if only he could discern it.

It was the report, firstly.

He didn't like gaping holes in any report he was given. And this hunter's origins were murky. So vague, that Dahl wanted to scream aloud. He wasn't certain where the blasted woman was even born, who her parents were, nothing. It was like she burst onto the scene from out of nowhere, just some strange creature that suddenly appeared from nothing. The report offered the briefest details; and barely any pictures, even. In Dahl's experience, secrecy like that was a deadly danger.

" ** _Species_** _: human. **Planet of origin** : unknown. **Family of origin** : unknown. **Family Name** : Kastiel Blade of Clan Lok. (note: Blade determined to be alias, original family name unknown. Adopted by Mandalorian leader, Artus Lok.) **Physical Description** : brown eyes, black hair, pale skin. Indications of physical trauma, extreme facial and cranial injuries during youth. Deafness verified. Cybernetic implants allow for exceptional hearing, however_."

She could be the damned daughter of the Supreme Chancellor himself, for all they knew! Or the lost Queen of some distant world, maybe! Hey, stranger things had happened. Still. Wherever she was from, where she'd gone included a Republic cruiser destroyed and a Jedi master killed. Justice demanded she answer for the crimes she'd committed.

It didn't change in the least his fascination, Dahl thought as she turned back around to face him. He was struck again by her sheer youth. Estimates gauged her age between twenty to maybe twenty-two years. He would've thought her complexion was so smooth because of the helmet she yanked from her head after entering the compound, except that the report indicated a clear predilection on her part to fight with her head bare and free.

She spoke in that weird Mandalorian language when she addressed the man behind her. Dahl wasn’t aware she could speak the language so well, even if Mandalorians were required by their code to use it. But she was new enough to the Clans that Dahl thought it might have taken her longer to learn. The other Mandalorian seemed to understand her well enough, though.

Now, him? He was new to Dahl's consideration. He knew about the small cyborg woman, because he was prodded several times over about "detaining her" if she accompanied the hunter here today. The devaronian was still something of a mystery, and they had tried considering him at some length. But there was simply so precious little information available about anyone called Gault Rennow. Considering the company he was running with these days, that anonymity wouldn’t last long, though.

But now there was this man. He was blonde, as young as the hunter herself. But he was fit and lean; so definitely a practiced fighter. Mandalorians trained their _children_ to fight; they put them into full-fledged battle when they were just barely thirteen, even. So it was likely this fellow had years worth of fighting experience to draw on as he stood there next to the bounty hunter, and it didn’t matter whether he looked like he was just twenty years old or not.

The Mando clutched an electrostaff close to his side and spoke to the hunter using a warm, familiar tone of voice. They were comfortable with each other, like long partners might be. And Dahl didn't even have a name to apply to the man! What good were reports, if such incredible bits of information were left so glaringly absent? He didn’t even know when or how the man joined the hunter’s team!

Maybe it was another weird Mandalorian custom, so that their women were always accompanied by a guard of some kind. Dahl had even considered she was really a Mandalorian the entire time, from some long-lost clan he hadn’t heard of. So maybe the man was related to her. A brother, perhaps.

But watching them interact together blasted that particular assumption to pieces. The way they stayed so close, like they were a single, solid unit. Like a fluid instrument flowed together, even. There was something between them. But it wasn’t _brotherly_ affection that highlighted the man’s eyes when he looked towards the hunter’s backside, either. Dahl watched as he stepped closer to her, saw him easing a critical look around the entranceway.

Dahl's stomach clenched all over again. Everything about this situation screamed at him he was in terrible danger. There were too many unknown variables, too much about this woman and her man that had been kept carefully obscure.

"Peyton Suole, huh?" Kastiel's eyes were rich deep pools as she considered him. She slanted a glance towards her companion. The man grunted in something of a response. She looked at Dahl again, considering his tensed shoulders under the stretch of his suit. He felt sweat pooling in the space between his shoulder blades, sliding down his spine under the rich fabric he was wearing. But Kastiel smiled with what looked like real humor, "You'll have to tell me what the hell a 'director of galactic relations' really does. Do you actually do something worthwhile with your time?"

He smiled with overt graciousness, like any appropriate host to a business meeting would no less, "It can be quite enjoyable a position, of course. How else could I meet such fascinating people as you yourself? And your … friend, of course."

Kastiel chuckled, shrugging lightly, "Oh, no. What you see with me, is precisely what you get. I'm no poster child, not by any stretch of the word. Which begs the question what the hell you're thinking asking for this meeting." She didn’t even address the subject of her companion. But the man stepped up to stand next to her, until their shoulders nudged each other softly. She leaned almost unconsciously into him until they seemed to be connected there in that brief space. It was intensely intimate, the gestures implicitly rich even if they lacked a single sound. _Lovers then_ , Dahl thought. Kas waved her hand in front of her, "But let's get on with it. I’m already due for another meeting before I can leave Quesh."

"Oh? Is there another company interested in your story? Adascorp will provide you just compensation for your time, I assure you," Dahl gestured towards the sparse office in the nearby room, where the holoterminal was already blinking for an incoming transmission. He mentally crossed his fingers the agents lurking in the next room over would not expose themselves before he got her into the office.

"Hardly. Your absurd gambit is unique enough to spark my interest, in fact. But that's all."

"I see. Well, then. You must be hunting a … well, what would you call someone you were hunting? An opponent?"

Kastiel smirked over his discomfiture, "Bounties. Prizes or rewards; or schmucks or dirtbags or weasels or criminals – pick your own favorite, I guess. Some worlds, I’m the closest thing to law you can count on. Now, target works real well. I call them targets a lot of the time" Was she trying to justify her work? Explain herself? Or maybe she was only making the closest thing to polite conversation she was able to manage, Dahl thought. “Now me? I call myself a tool. My clients just point me in the right direction, is all.”

Dahl waved Kastiel into the office, as she talked. He followed, watching her man move over to stand in front of the yawning expanse of desk. Kastiel was standing there already. She was looking down at the datapads and terminal there when Dahl moved around to stand facing her, behind the long surface.

Dahl glanced at the man, saw him shifting his blonde head around to look at the room itself, judging it carefully. The warrior turned back around to stare over at Dahl sharply, suddenly. Dahl’s stomach twisted as he considered the warning look in those pale brown eyes. _They know_ , he thought. They _both_ fucking know! Kastiel smiled thinly at him, “Of course. I’d rather you explain what I’m really supposed to call _you_.”

Dahl shrugged uneasily, "Yes, we should perhaps skip the formalities." He tapped several buttons on the terminal in front of him, trying to ignore the sour chuckle Kastiel made when her Mandalorian lover grunted more of those strange guttural words. Neither one of them seemed anxious, even when the tread of boots sounded behind them and they turned to consider the agents rushing inside the room.

Kastiel finally breathed out tiredly when she caught sight of the smallish, green-skinned Mirialan Jedi who followed the agents, mumbling, “I knew I’d regret letting her go. Just knew it.” But it wasn’t nervousness Kastiel seemed to be feeling when she regarded the Jedi. Dahl thought she was almost amused. Except she seemed so bitterly caustic at the same time, too.

Damn it, nothing this woman did or said was right, or made sense! Dahl felt like he was floundering in a pool and drowning, as if understanding was just beyond his ability to discern. Like it was hidden out of his sight. He just couldn’t tell; who was what and where was how. He was just the one strolling to catch up.

The holo image of Jun Seros took shape over the terminal, then. Dahl tried to feel stronger when the Jedi Master appeared, and he moved to stand alongside the agents. But his gut remained twisted and tight with anxiety. Maybe if he understood the words the two Mandalorians kept using; except those people clung so tight to their language. He really did want to spit, as Kastiel turned to face them with the calmest ease.

Like _she_ was the one in control, there. And it didn’t matter how many agents with rifles upraised stood there in front of her.

Jun Seros smoothly interjected, and that Jedi tranquility of his seemed discordant and off-beat up against the weapons on such easy display. Dahl crossed his fingers tight, praying, praying. And listening, "There is no reason for violence here, hunter. Come with the agents of your own free will, and answer for your crimes against justice."

Kastiel glanced at the holo, bemused, "Crimes? Explain, Jedi. And quickly. I already told your so-called director fellow I have another meeting to get to. So I don't have a lot of time to waste with you people."

Dahl cleared his throat, trying to obscure the nervousness that rumbled in his stomach. _Please don’t let me puke_ , he thought. Puking would be embarrassing. Dahl lifted his chin, "I'm actually Agent Dahl, of the Strategic Information Service. I’m here to take you into custody for the murder of Jedi Master Kellian Jarro and the destruction of the Republic cruiser, _Aurora_."

The blonde Mandalorian leaned closer to the woman abruptly. Like he was surprised. Dahl frowned at him. But the man only asked Kastiel, "Kellian Jarro? You took down the Mandalorian Killer?"

Kastiel nodded shruggingly. Like the question was only purely obvious, "He was the last target of the Great Hunt. It was a tough fight. He tossed me across the damn room using those spiffy Jedi powers. But yea. I think I caught him by surprise, actually."

Torian grunted, "Good target."

Jun Seros frowned, like a ripple of dismay just drifting across his features. It was almost like he wasn’t allowed to feel upset, and struggled with the feelings. Jun asserted, "Kellian Jarro was a noble Jedi. You had no right to harm him."

Kastiel tapped her fingertip against the handle of her blaster, leaning her head back like she was pondering, "As I recall, he killed hundreds of Mandalorians during the Sacking. Maybe you should take it up with the Clan he nearly wiped out, there. I even know where you can find a member of Spar, mind you. Want me to log you both a meeting?"

"Enough!"

Kastiel glanced down as a glittering blue length of lightsaber suddenly stretched up and against her neck. The blonde warrior hissed angrily, leaning forward in apparent anger. Dahl stiffened, his fingers tightening along the blaster in his palm. He realized his fingers were sweating.

But Kastiel lifted her hand, waving her man back. She looked sideways towards the slight Mirialan girl, remembering the last time they met and the shocked dismay on her youngster of a face. The girl glared at her from along the length of blue-shimmering blade, gritting out past her clenched teeth, "My master was a great man! He did good every single day! And you murdered him! You don’t have the right to stand here, and lie about him now! Just … give up! Own the wrongs you’ve done, and tell them the truth! They’ll take into account the mercy you showed me, at least."

Kastiel finally, finally frowned, "You really believe that Jedi never fuck up? Are you that much a fool, girl? I don’t care how many good things he did to make up for the lives he destroyed. But I looked in his eyes when he died, and I know _he_ understood. You’re just wasting the chance he asked for, for you."

"Justice is no waste, hunter," Jun Seros intoned nearby. His voice still seemed … misplaced. Maybe if he were there, in the room it would feel different. But Dahl was left to struggle with the feeling there were undertones he couldn’t quite grasp. Jun ordered then, "Thendys, take the hunter's weapons. And be careful. She’s Mandalorian enough, and they’re a tricky bunch."

The Jedi knight withdrew her saber, stepping forward as if to comply with Seros' direction, nodding, "I know that only too well, master."

But Kastiel shook her head again when the blade dropped away. She reached out to grasp the small Jedi's hand and yanked Thendys closer. The Mirialan stumbled hard against Kastiel’s body, her head muffled by the hunter's armored belly. The agents hesitated, afraid of shooting the Jedi girl if they fired.

It was a fatal miscalculation. Kastiel shouted out towards her companion, something in Mandalorian again. And Dahl growled angrily. But it was already too late.

The man was flying, a swift jetpack-fired leap that sent him over Kastiel's head to land firmly in front of Dahl himself. Dahl blinked at him, confused. Then he moaned pitifully when the Mandalorian butted him forcefully in the gut with the blunt end of his electrostaff. Dahl curled up against the blow, trying to drag breath into his aching diaphragm. He vaguely heard blaster shots firing, realized the hunter was battling nearby.

Then there was a click, as the Mandalorian pressed a button against the side of the staff. Dahl gasped, trying to fall backward and out of reach of that blasted electrostaff. But he wasn't able to escape the sizzling stream of electricity arching through his body. He twitched, his teeth burned, his hair stood on bright, vivid end – just before everything disappeared into cold blackness.

* * *

Kastiel gripped the hair of the little Jedi, lifted her face up to stare towards the holo. She watched Jun Seros hold his hands out, with all his fingers spread. Like he was fucking surrendering! Kastiel snorted at him in disgust, feeling the buzzing energy from Torian’s weapon still sizzling hot against the air as he came back to stand just behind her. Kas glared at Seros, "You did this. It was stupid!"

Master Seros was dogged, though. He lifted his chin up, "It was _right_."

Thendys didn't weep or beg. Kastiel gave the Jedi that much credit. She'd yet to meet one of them who even whimpered when they died. But the admiration barely kept her from pressing the solid end of her blaster harsh against the woman's temple. Kas whispered into Thendys’ green ear. She repeated, "Fool!" And she released a bolt.

The woman's blood splattered against the side of the desk, struck the holoterminal itself. Kastiel imagined the Jedi master could see droplets smearing the image on his end, even. Poetic, she thought.

"How's that for your notion of fucking justice, Jedi? She threatened my life here, and she died for it. Justice," Kas pointed a slender finger down towards the Jedi’s crumpled form at her feet.

Jun Seros was angry. Kastiel could feel it, almost. Like a burning brand aching through the image in front of her. But he seemed to bite his lip, rather than shout at her, "You've made a mistake, bounty hunter."

She growled back at him, "No. You did. You cost this woman her life! You tossed her at me like she was able to give me a good fight! But she wasn't ready! You wasted her! You sick fuck!" Kastiel leaned forward, almost looming into the image and threatening Seros, "Don't make anymore mistakes like this again. You want something from me? Then face me your fucking self. Otherwise, back off."

She jabbed the holoterminal with a pointed finger, cursing. Torian muttered, "Teach them to mess with Mandoes."

"Here's hoping they take the lesson to heart." She glanced past him towards the downed agents. She nodded, grunting, “Dahl?” Torian shrugged, “Yea, he’s alive. Not feeling too good.” Kas stalked over to the man, motioned towards Torian. Together, they manhandled Dahl into one of the chairs there in front of the desk. Kastiel settled herself onto a chair in front of him, tapped him slowly against the side of the head and listened to him groan as he slowly opened his eyes. He lifted his drool-stained face until he could see her, and she waited for him to regain some semblance of awareness.

Kastiel smiled when Dahl grimaced, taking in her face so close there in front of him. She shrugged, “Hello, SIS Agent Dahl. So many interesting reports you’ve been privy to over the years, I bet. Reports about me … reports about others. But I’m real, real interested in very specific reports. About Imperial Intelligence. And the agents working for them. And who might be so willing to give them up to SIS controllers. And, gee. I've still got some time to burn before I hunt down one last slimy Hutt named Broga! Aren't you lucky?"


	67. Wrapping up the Job

Kastiel was swiftly losing patience with the entire Jedi Order. Every last single Jedi she met lately seemed singularly intent on making her life difficult, anyway. If they weren't mindlessly droning at her about how damn precious peace and harmony was, they were swinging those fucking light sticks at her. Funny that they never seemed to really appreciate the irony, there.

"You're going to fight me over Broga, here? Really?" Kastiel sighed as she looked with wide eyes over the shoulder of the robed Jedi towards the massive Hutt behind him. Broga was quavering in near panic, like a bowl full of jelly in the center of a shaking table.

Jedi Master Berin Fraal. That's what Jeelta and Portho had called him as they argued with each other in front of the holo. Not that they argued long, either. Kas fried Jeelta into a puddle of Hutt goo and then shot Portho right in the middle of his fat, bulbous Hutt head. Which is why Broga was trembling so hard, of course.

But Fraal prattled at her about mercy for Broga, "Broga's life is as precious as your own, young hunter. There is no justification for you to take it from him." Such a typical Jedi, Kastiel thought. Fraal settled back on the heels of his feet and smoothly clasped his hands together in front of him in a relaxed posture.

Kastiel smirked at him, slanting a brief glance towards the Hutt lumbering in a quivering hulk of blubbery mass behind the Jedi Master, "You've obviously never been invited to partake in the hospitality of a Hutt's beast pit. Get back with me after that maybe, and remind me how precious their lives really are, Jedi."

Berin Fraal frowned at her, curious, "So you're only here to fight for the Empire. Broga's life will help secure the Republic's hold on Quesh, after all."

Kastiel snorted, "I don't give a shit about the Empire on Quesh, or anywhere. I'm just being paid to take out _that_ Hutt. All you have to do is slide your fancy robed ass out of the way, and we'll call this entire meeting a huge success."

Broga belched out a panicked sound, and the gas he emanated sent a sour stench into the air almost as annoying as the sound of his voice in _Huttese_ , "Don't let the bounty hunter hurt me, Jedi!"

"Peace, Broga. There is no need for alarm. I'll handle this." Master Fraal withdrew his lightsaber, activating it with that strange singing sound Kastiel was fast growing to despise. She sighed, palming her own dual blasters.

"Yea, Broga. This won't take long at all, don't worry." Kas smiled to herself as Torian's chuckle echoed from behind her. The Jedi frowned, shaking his head sadly as he sprang at her.

Torian yelled a battle cry, loud and fierce, "Oya!" Kastiel leaned back, making room for Torian's swing. Torian’s electrostaff flew in a wild arching motion over her head to halt the downward momentum of the pale blue lightsaber swinging towards her head. She grunted slightly as she felt the press of Torian's shoulder against the center of her back, leaned back to give him a firmer center of gravity there against her.

Berin Fraal grimaced against the impact of his blade on the Mandalorian's staff. For only a moment he looked squarely into the dark visor of the woman's faceplate, felt the pulse of her emotions as she grinned back at him. Satisfaction and pride, a heady sense of desire for the man behind her, possessiveness even – like a bolt, the thought winged through his mind, almost like she'd said it aloud, like she cried out, " _He's mine_!" Fraal frowned, thinking how attuned to the Force she really was, as if it very nearly beat in her. If only she could touch it, use it, how incredible she'd be!

The danger was suddenly blatant, real. One Mandalorian was bad enough. But these two fought together in coordinated synchronization, like water flowing against water until it was one single fluid body. As a team, they were _lethal_.

Fraal stepped back, looked towards the man and regarded him through the Force. Sensations flowed, angled sharply. The man was blunt, straightforward and unhidden. He regarded the woman protectively, like he himself was a strong, determined shield designed to cover her always. He would take the blows meant for her and then return them in a deadly twofold. Because then the woman would be able to maneuver into a better position, too.

Torian snarled at him from over Kastiel’s shoulder, their heads close together as he leaned against her back, " _Jetii_ … break your _kad'au_ against _my_ _beskar'gam_. If you can."

Fraal recognized the taunt for what it was; only a feigning motion that was designed to draw his attention away from the _real_ threat. He scowled dramatically, then. Then he made his own feigning motion, stepping forward like he was going to oppose the warrior. Torian shouted though, unfooled. Torian watched, his throat tight, as the Jedi's robe spun in a whip of motion and the blue glare of his lightsaber flared in a brilliant arch as he flung it towards Kastiel instead.

Kas watched bemusedly as the saber winged at her through the damn air, controlled by the steady Force user behind it. It flew fast as a bolt at her. Torian was shouting, sounding angry and not a little bit scared, " _Nayc_!"

Then it hit, stunningly hard – a desperate thud against her diaphragm just under the curved plates that covered her breasts. Kastiel grunted as the air wooshed out of her. She coughed, trying to drag in a breath and failed. She leaned over, wheezing madly as she looked for blood down the front of her torso, and she wondered crazily, " _He missed? Seriously?_ " But the ache there in the upper part of her abdomen assured her the blow had been real and hard and terrible.

Kastiel glanced up through bleary eyes, hearing the maddened pings of metal against lightsaber. She watched her Mandalorian warrior bashing against the Jedi with wild, almost inarticulate battle cries, yelling mostly for the Jedi's death. Kas watched the battle rage for several desperate moments as she worked to regain her shattered breathing. She coughed one more time, ignoring the pulling bruise on the soft part of her upper abdomen, and then she crouched down low onto one knee and raised up both of her blasters. Kastiel cried out once and loudly towards Torian, " _Daab_!"

Fraal grunted when Torian dropped back, moving quickly out of the way. Fraal tried to leap, to get out from the reach of the hunter's volley as it sounded wildly in the closed-in space of the adrenal factory.

But Kastiel had battled a Jedi once before, and she was familiar with the speed of their mobility. She never forgot! She anticipated Fraal's motions, moving her blasters in an arc so fast he practically jumped straight into the circling fire she was making. Fraal yelped, only once – a blaster bolt caught him low against his hip and sent him spinning. He lost his balance entirely, falling sideways into a wide-open vat of … something. Kastiel stumbled to her feet, moving over to look down into the swirling green mess in the tank below.

She shook her head tiredly, panting. But Torian suddenly yanked her around to face him, his gaze roving down her frame rapidly. She reached up to pat his shoulder, mumbled reassuringly to him, "I’m just bruised. That shit hurt, damn it." Torian sighed, smiling slightly as he looked at her.

"Mandalore made that armor, you know. _Beskar'gam_. Can block the blow of a lightsaber if made and put together properly. Yours was." Torian wanted to yank her close, hold onto her. But the work wasn’t done and Kas was already looking past him towards the increasingly agitated and squirming mass of Hutt. Torian grunted as he let her loose, watched her slide around him to approach Broga. Torian ignored the creature's wild cries, all those promises of riches galore that trilled up into the air. If only she'd let him live, he swore.

Torian glanced down into the vat of green chemical crap where the Jedi had fallen. He smiled tightly, satisfied the man had failed to take her from him. And Kastiel's blasters blared a cacophony of song behind him.

* * *

"Tell me about the first man you killed."

"It was in a battle. He was human. I killed more than him that day, but I remember him. They were pirates, crazy and on the move. Probably thought a small community transport was an easy enough target. Don't think they knew we were Mandoes when they boarded the ship. Their mistake."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen. I was newly blooded. Traveling to join Corridan's troop on Dxun."

"Were you sorry?"

"No. They would've done terrible things to the people on board. I fought to protect them. I do remember the look on the man's face. Surprised, mostly. He kept looking down at the blade I thrust into his chest, like he couldn't really understand what it was."

"I wasn’t sorry, either. But I … didn’t like it. I was about a week shy of being sixteen, and he was a lot bigger than me. He begged me. Tears and everything. I still made him bleed. Made sure it took a long time. I beat him with a thin, metal rod. The same one he used when he hurt my brother."

"You protected your family."

"I always tried to. But him? I should've done it sooner. Before he hurt Khyriel. He nearly killed my little brother."

"But he lived. Because you defended him."

"He was hurt. Bad. I could only keep the bastard from hurting him _more_ , is all."

"Worth it, then. You destroyed a _demagolka_. Someone who hurts a child isn’t worth any different. You did it right, Kas."

* * *

Torian watched Kastiel. He stood there silently next to the small party of Imperial officers and guards and watched her striding away from them towards a lonely bit of ground past the wall. The soldiers shifted restlessly, and some of them coughed behind the breathing masks covering their lower faces. They were obviously uncomfortable over the show Kastiel was making.

All except for Moff Dracen. That one faced the direction Kastiel was marching with his back ramrod straight, his eyes gleaming darkly as he watched the hunter intently. Torian could discern how excited Dracen was, how much the pleasure of it thrilled him. Torian’s lips twisted into a disgusted frown behind his faceplate, so that he ignored the Moff to watch his hunter, rather. He knew Kastiel wasn’t feeling any pleasure from the task; just wanted it finished.

Kastiel's implants were turned off. Torian idly rubbed the handheld device she handed to him after she shut down her only ability to hear. He hated it when she was vulnerable, whenever her skills were hampered in any way. But the trust she showed him when she handed him the device sent a frisson of exhilaration through him. It heated his blood and excited him, until he stood there with both legs spread to loosen the ache in his groin.

He guarded her.

Graag’s looming bulk was just behind him now, and Torian could hear the Hutt as he bantered with that twi’lek slave. Torian still wasn’t sure what the slave was called. So the pitiful dreg ended up being called “slave” whenever they talked of him. He seemed proud enough to serve the Hutt, though.

Graag rumbled, "She's a remarkable little human. Are you certain we can't secure her support?"

"We barely managed to coerce her into supporting us here, my lord," the slave crooned. Every sound he made was a croon. Like he was always singing to the Hutts.

"There must be something. Something we can use against her. Perhaps talk to Nem'ro. He sponsored her out of Nal'Hutta, after all. She owes us a debt."

Torian glanced behind him, glaring through his dark faceplate towards the Hutt and the tiny figure of the twi'lek. The slave actually winced as he noted Torian's attention, subtly inclining his head in Graag's direction, "My lord, the woman is a Mandalorian now. She doesn't recognize any debts to the Cartel, and forcing the issue may bring the ire of the Clans down upon us."

Graag harrumphed angrily, slithering his large body in an agitated motion over the moist ground, "Mandalorians are overly independent creatures. Unfortunate. "

"Indeed, my lord. They do not realize the glory to be had in service to such a noble lord as you yourself."

Torian's sneer at the man's unctuous kowtowing remained hidden behind his visor as he turned back around to regard Kastiel once again.

She was hampered by the struggling form of the thin Bith she dragged along in her wake. He kept warbling these pitiful cries as she pulled him behind her, his thin arm clutched roughly right under his armpit. He begged them all standing there, and begged Kastiel, too, “Help me! Don’t do this – it … My survival is worth more than killing me! I can help you …” Wailing. Over and over again.

Actually, he hadn’t stopped making the noise since he finally clapped eyes on Kastiel’s armored form as she leaned against one hip there, waiting. It didn’t even take any of his mathematical genius to know what was happening when he saw her there, once they yanked him into the room. So he began winging blathering cries as soon as he saw her. But Kastiel didn’t say anything. Not a single word. She just marched across the room and grabbed Zee around the nape of his neck. And she dragged him straight out.

The Imperials and the Hutt followed after her, curious and then morbidly fascinated. They only paused when she pressed Torian back, motioning that he stay. He only barely lifted his helmeted chin, gesturing his ready support. And now the lot of them just stood there, watching her.

"No! Stop! It was the only solution to the problem! I told you! The Eidolon would have killed me otherwise!" If Zee had been capable of tears, they would've been streaming down the taut skin of his cheeks and probably choked the thin slits that counted for nostrils on his Bith face. As it was, Zee was twitching and scrambling and trying to get loose from the hunter’s hold on his shirt.

He was so panicked the mask over his mouth was almost knocked loose from his face. Almost. Zee managed at the last moment to smack it back into place.

Too bad, Torian thought. The Bith probably would have an easier death if he was able to choke on the poisonous air before Kastiel dragged him a good enough distance from the compound. That was the limit of Torian’s sympathy, though. Only because he remembered the way Kastiel sounded when she talked about Anuli.

Torian loved her.  
He knew it.

It was the fierceness of her spirit, the burning fire of her protectiveness and her determination to never, ever fail. It drew him, and he loved her for it. This damned Bith offended the essence of the woman he loved so much. And Torian was glad he’d die for it.

The rest? Torian leaned his weight onto one leg, considering. Because he knew this bit of work would not soothe the sense of bitter upset Kastiel felt, for failing that boy. It was a dark, terrible ugly doubt that throbbed over Kastiel’s senses, and it was old. It wasn’t even Anuli’s dying that made for it to begin with. Torian thought it was Dromund Kaas, rather.

It was the explosion that ripped her life apart. It was the way she lost both her _buir_. The way her brothers suffered and her sisters struggled. The way she looked for him, even. It was the loss and the fears that ached in her every time she tried to sleep.

The wounds were old. But they still hurt her. The Bith only poked a stick into a bleeding, open sore on Kastiel’s spirit. And he’d pay the price for it today. It's why Torian watched her drag him to the place, just under some of those strange-colored trees that dotted Quesh’s landscape. Torian just stood there, watching her slap a make-believe bandage over the still-smarting sense of failure that kept burning his own Kas. And he thought of what he could do to really fix it. Until she knew just as much as he did how magnificent she was.

Kastiel dropped Zee onto the ground, there under those trees. Zee yelped, the sound carrying sharply across the way to where they all stood. Then she yanked out a single device, just one - a round spherical-shaped thing that glittered almost iridescent green even in the murky orange glow of the Quesh sky.

Murmurs came from the group around them, disbelieving sounds and not a few startled cries, while a small, terrible smile pulled against Torian's lips. Of course his hunter knew the weaknesses of her opponents. She used them rightly. Used them well, too.

Zee held up his hands; and he said something to her. Crying some more and begging. But Kastiel couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear anything.

Kastiel only shrugged one last time. Just before she depressed the button that activated the device. Torian spoke a single word into his helmet, effectively insulating his hearing against the impending blast. He could vaguely discern those around him, their hands flying up to cover their ears or whatever appendages they might use for hearing.

But Torian kept watching Kastiel. Through the sonic detonator activating, even. He saw her rocked back by the force of the blast, saw the ripples of the sound waves vibrating in the air around her. Kas shook her head, working to regain her equilibrium. But she remained unaware of the shouts and calls from the soldiers close enough to have heard the sonic explosion.

But Zee …

Torian watched uncaring, as the Bith's head exploded in a smooth and vivid burst of red, gooey wet color from the force of the sound waves that reverberated against his brain.

* * *

"Are you fucking kidding me? I checked and re-checked that transmission! There wasn't anything about the coding to indicate SIS was involved! How the fuck did they manage to get past all my safeguards?" Mako was nearly bouncing from agitation. The SIS was certainly on whatever crap-list Mako kept filed in those fancy implants of hers.

Kastiel plunked her helmet down on the table as she watched the small female pace back and forth in the brief, tiny quarters they were given after she finally finished up with Zee outside. She stretched, reaching high above her head with both her hands as she groaned, "May want to revise your security protocols, then. They had your algorithms.” Kastiel handed Mako the datapad she took of Dahl’s desk, “Here."

Dahl didn’t have so much to tell her. Of course he lost consciousness from loss of blood eventually. But the reports also corroborated the sheer brevity of information the Republic’s SIS had on her. And her family, too. No, there was more on the datapad about Mako, rather. "Your sister or sisters – whatever – are becoming a problem, Mako," Kastiel shrugged.

"Dammit!" Mako began shaking. Hard enough the tendrils of hair falling over her forehead quivered. Kastiel placed a hand against her shoulder.

"Calm down." Kas tapped the datapad with one slim finger, "I need you to go over this stuff. Catalogue it accordingly. Stupid fool had no idea where I was from, even. Certainly no clue my little brother is an agent loyal to the Empire. Hell, Mako. They knew more about you than they did me! Figure it out, okay?"

"On it." Mako hopped up onto the table next to the helmet Kastiel placed there, while the bounty hunter went about yanking off her armor and clothes. She glanced at Kas carefully, grimacing as she regarded the large blue-black bruise right in the center of her torso, along the ridged muscles of her diaphragm. "You got Zee, huh?"

Kastiel prowled towards the small refresher off to the side of their rooms, grumbling, "Squished his head in, yea." She hummed as she took in the water-dispensing faucet over the yawning edge of bathtub that almost took up the entire space, eager to soak her aches and pains in some real hot water. Mako listened to the splashing sounds coming from the refresher as she tapped against the new datapad, as well as several others. She worked fast, and it helped to turn her attention from the old memory of Anuli's shattered face.

Kastiel emerged naked from the refresher. She’d loosely wrapped herself in a plain brown drying cloth, just standard military issue fabric. Mako glanced at her sideways, thinking the towel was barely comfortable. Thing looked scratchy, in fact. Which could be why Kastiel didn’t wipe herself dry, just kept right on dripping as she hunkered down to clean and oil the pieces of her armor nearby the table.

Mako leaned forward to look at the armor closer, frowning confusedly, "What's that green stuff, Kas? Looks slimy."

"It would be slimy, yea. Some sort of green mucous. The Hutt equivalent of blood, I think. But who knows, really. It smelled rancid, though. I can tell you that much for sure," Kastiel used a thin blade to scrape at some of the dried gunk in the cracks of her chest-plate. That's why her dark head was bent over when the door to the room was suddenly thrust wide so Major Faradin could stalk inside the room.

Kastiel’s head jerked up, and Faradin stopped. His blocky-faced scowl turned into shock when he saw her, only barely wrapped still in that damn drying cloth that left her shoulders and thighs tantalizingly bare. He practically choked on the angry words rising in his throat, until the only thing he could really appreciate was the pale skin of her thighs where she'd curled her legs up. Her fingers just froze on the plate she was holding against her stomach as she worked over it, and she frowned over at him.

_She’s shaped like a damned fantastical dream of a female_ , he thought. Faradin could see the plump swell of her breasts above the edge of the towel, and he inhaled as he prayed the cloth would dip lower.

Then Faradin looked up at her face, and his eyes narrowed as he took in her bare features. He certainly hadn’t seen her face uncovered all this time. Kastiel looked confused; she didn’t understand the flushness of Faradin’s ruddy face as he gaped at her. But Mako did. She jumped up from where she was sitting, harrumphing an angry sound over at the officer. Kastiel glanced sideways at her then, and that’s when Faradin saw the scars that stretched over her jaw and neck under the implants that reached up to her ears.

Faradin sneered at her for the flaw, thinking, _No wonder it’s Mandalorians that use her. She’s not good enough for the Empire._

But Mako snarled at him, "What the fuck! You make it a habit to just barge into a room without knocking? You ass!"

Faradin turned on Mako, scowling through narrowed eyes, "This is an Imperial garrison. I don't need your permission to move around, here."

Mako jumped up from the chair aside the table where she’d been working, poking the officer in the center of his with one slender finger as she barked at him, "Well, when _we're_ in this room, you'll respect the damn door. Or be sorry for it."

Faradin stiffened, standing straight and tall as he looked down at Mako and glaring, "Don't think to threaten me, you little bitch."

Kastiel sighed loudly just then, looking up at the ceiling of the room like she was pained: "Whatever ease I gained in that damn tub is being steadily whittled down to a nub by you two. Can we just move on, then? What the fuck do you want, major?"

He glared at the bounty hunter, ignoring the way his pants tightened across his groin as he heard the sound of her voice unhampered by that damn faceplate, "Moff Dracen wanted you to attend his evening meal. As his guest. I’m sure he appreciated the entertainment you provided him this afternoon, in fact."

"Oh yea,” Kastiel rolled her eyes. “That sounds like it would be just loads of fun. I'll pass, though. Tell him we're already scheduled for departure and have to be moving soon. Places to go, you know. Jobs to do."

Faradin almost stomped a single boot in vexation at the woman's obtuse refusal to respect the rank and privilege enjoyed by the Imperial military. As if the honor she was extended didn’t even matter! Like she didn’t understand her place! Maybe she thought she was just as good – or even better! – than a Moff! Faradin growled through clenched teeth, "You should be grateful! You should kiss the boots of your betters! You’re nothing! Just a damned mercenary for hire." He leaned closer then, so that the insignia on his uniform glinted in the room’s pale orange light, “Sell yourself, indeed. There are commodities a woman like you can provide. Sell that! Serve men the way you’re supposed to. Hell! Even _I_ would give you work like that!"

Mako gasped, especially when she saw the stark look in Kastiel's eyes. She knew suddenly this Imperial was hardly the first one to deride Kastiel that way. She was so mad her small frame actually quivered with awful, terrible rage, and she slapped against her belt looking for her blaster.  

But there was a low, virulently angry growl suddenly. It shivered through the room and made all of them turn towards the still-open door. Torian and Gault were both standing there, woodenly straight and red-faced. And each one of them was holding a variety of packages, bundles of items Kastiel told them to retrieve before they left Quesh.

Kastiel stared over at Torian austerely, deadpan, and cold. It hurt him to see her like that, like she was a doll sitting there. Some inanimate object only vaguely recording the happenings in the room. He knew it hurt her, to have such utter rejection coming at her all over again. And from someone wearing that uniform. She barely seemed to notice the droplets of water still dripping from her wet hair, beading against her shoulders before disappearing under the edges of the cloth covering her; she just sat there like she didn’t care.

But Torian raged. He ignored Faradin’s wild, admonishing yell, barely heard the man screaming shrilly, "Don't you dare touch me!"

Gault helped him. He eased out from Torian's way. Even pressed against the edge of the door to push it further open and grabbed the parcels Torian was holding. All so Torian would have an easier time getting through the door. The Mandalorian grunted towards him, which Gault assumed was Torian's raging equivalent right then of a "thank you". That's how he took it, at least. He didn’t even cheer as Torian thundered past him.

Nope. Gault just settled back, leaning his ass against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his lean chest as he watched Torian beat the ever-living shit out of the fucking bastard who called their hunter a whore.

It was hands-down the best show of Gault's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations firstly:  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> kad'au - lightsaber  
> beskar'gam - armor, made of Mandalorian Iron  
> Nayc - no  
> Daab - Down!  
> Demagolka - someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, or a war criminal. From the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche; a boogey-man.
> 
> On Bith:  
> Bith, as a species, had an incredibly intense sensitivity to the tonal frequencies of sound. They "saw" sounds the way most species saw colors. This made them exceptional musicians, so that you can see them over and over again in Star Wars lore, using musical instruments in countless cantina scenes. However, their sensitivity to sound waves made them particularly vulnerable to explosions produced by sonic detonators. While most species would be knocked insensible or unconscious using a sonic detonator, a Bith's head would literally implode from the force of the sound.
> 
> On Mandalorian armor:  
> Traditional Mandalorian armor was made using refined beskar, or Mandalorian iron. It was resistant to blows from blasters and blades, of course. But it could also provide reasonable protection from lightsaber strikes. The helmets that Mandalorians used with the armor also provided a certain array of technical read-outs, all of which would be tied in and uploaded to nearby ships or computers. These read-outs ran the gamut, including communication(s), heat signatures, infrared vision, etc. Various warriors could have their armor sets and helmets, even, provide protections from environmental extremes.


	68. Tip-Toe, Little Brother

"My officer became conscious only this afternoon, mind you. Forget for only a moment that's two full days of service he was unable to provide me. But there are also several scars across his face that will probably prove permanent," Moff Dracen's image on the holoterminal seemed over-staid and reserved. Like he was being held there in just careful place. Kastiel wondered if someone came along to shove a board up his butt, or something. The question was, how to discern the puppeteer.

"You mean he actually woke up? I'm impressed. Seriously. Didn't really think he was that tough," Kastiel purred with pretended admiration. From just behind her, Mako muffled a small laugh. But Dracen breathed in slowly as he stood there, regarding them both balefully.

"The major comes from a well-standing family of some repute, however. They are pressing me for justice. The matter requires something of a response," Dracen locked his fingers together behind his back. Apparently his explanation Kastiel’s ship was no longer on Quesh escaped his fancy-pants aristocrats. Kastiel could almost feel sorry for the Moff, having to wrangle with Imperial politics today.

But her sympathy didn’t go far whenever she thought of Major Faradin, either. Kastiel shrugged, "Justice is a worthy enough goal. Let your swanky nobles know my man busted three fingers in his right hand against the Major’s square face. If they press me on this, I'll transmit them a bill for those injuries. Oh, and for the materials used to knit him back into fighting shape, too."

Dracen bit back any kind of angry recrimination. It helped she kept her face obscured behind one of those Mandalorian helmets. Because if he saw her smirking at him, Dracen was very certain he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from temperamental outbursts galore. If only he could lay aside these politic maneuvers just the once, at least. Dracen gritted out, barely, "I'm not certain they will agree with your estimation of the value inherent in the situation, however. Normally I wouldn't be bothered. But they're quick to claim a Sith Lord of some growing power as their cousin, too."

"A whole Sith Lord, hmm? Haven't pissed one of them off just yet. Unless you count that little one, back on Taris. She had a pirate in her service I considered shooting. Something about his hair, I think," Kastiel clicked her tongue thoughtfully.

Dracen grumbled sourly, "There was no pirate in Lord Lusiel's service, that I saw. She was accompanied by an Imperial _officer_ , rather."

Kastiel lifted her chin, staring back at the Moff for a single silent moment as she thought fast, fast. Cousins would mean the Hejarans were involved. And Kastiel didn’t want their attentions. Not yet, not when they hadn’t found Camiel yet.

It was important to Kastiel, to ensure her littlest sister was secure and able to _stay_ secure, before anyone with the name Hejaran came within fifty yards of her. Fucking bastards. Kas clicked her fingers like she’d suddenly remembered, “Hey! That Imperial officer wouldn't be called Quinn, would he?"

"How did you know that?"

"Well, that’s good. If Quinn’s still on Quesh remind him I still have the monkey-lizard he paid me to remove from Balmorra. If he wants it returned, then by all means, he can contact me directly. I'd be glad to assist." Kastiel thumbed her chin thoughtfully, “Quinn loved that monkey-lizard. Unrequited, of course.”

"I see." Actually, Dracen looked more bewildered than anything now. Kastiel could practically see the wheels turning in his head – the wondering, if there was even a chance she had the ability to cozen an Imperial of such lofty rank and influence. Because then Dracen had to weight the varied degrees, between Kas’ so-called friendship with the officer. And the Hejarans’ familial ties, too.

Actually, Kastiel wondered the same thing. She certainly didn’t know how much affection, if any that her sister owed to her maternal relatives. If Lusiel respected her bonds with the Hejarans enough, Kas could end up with a fire-breathing Sith bearing down on her. But if this situation blew right over – if Lusiel ignored it entirely – well then, Kastiel would have a better understanding where her Sithy sister really cared.

Kas _wanted_ Lusiel to hate them as much as she did, though. So she mentally crossed her fingers and looked forward to the game playing out. Then she leaned forward, until her helmeted face loomed across the terminal, "Was there anything else we needed to talk about, Moff?"

Dracen blinked back at her, wondering what had just happened to the course of the conversation. He felt like he had missed something of integral importance. Or like he’d given the hunter far more insight than he gained. It was highly disconcerting, to feel he lost out to a mere mercenary of a woman.

Damn it.

* * *

Lusiel sighed. She reclined back against the headboard of the bed in her quarters as she watched Quinn neatly and carefully reorganizing the nearby closet so his uniforms hung in neat, precise rows alongside her own Sith robes. He even color coordinated _her_ clothes, something that left her smiling wryly from her comfortable position on the bed. "Are you going to line them up so that the red-colored sleeves are all synchronized in a neat little row," she laughingly called over to him.

He shrugged, glancing back at her. Lusiel preferred clothes hued red. Dark, burgundy reds most often; and not some few rich, deep-set reds. Black, too. But mostly red. So Quinn teased her now, "If they’re organized appropriately, you won’t need to look over-long for the _particular_ red-colored robe you require. Although I do think you look perfect without any covering, too."

Lusiel laughed, rolling over onto her back to blink happily up at the ceiling. She couldn’t remember another moment like this, when she was so utterly content. Maybe it was the _first_ time Quinn came into her quarters. But now he was staying here, and she couldn’t help the fizzing sense of pleasure that came of having him right where she wanted him just then. Well … almost. Lusiel leaned up onto an elbow as she watched him, "I can’t imagine you'd let me dig through the closet looking for anything, Quinn. The thought!" Quinn’s mouth quirked at her as he moved towards the desk set against the room's nearby wall.

She frowned slightly, thinking how easily her feelings were wrapped up into one person. Then Lusiel reminded herself how important it was to secure him. Losing Quinn couldn’t happen.

Quinn suddenly mumbled something under his breath as he regarded the messages sent to the ship since they left Quesh. Something about … monkey-lizards? Lusiel sat up slightly, leaning back against her elbows as she looked across the room to where he was sitting at the desk, his dark head bent over a thin datapad. "What is it, Quinn?"

"Do you have a family member by the name of Faradin?"

Lusiel sighed heavily, "Cousins, yes. From my mother's family, no less. They enjoy needling me for support. As if I've forgotten what they called us just after my parents were killed."

He looked at her, one slanted eyebrow raised up, "What is it they called you?"

“A burden. Although I never depended on them for _anything_.” Lusiel flopped back down onto her back again, determined to maintain her positive feelings about getting Quinn moved into her quarters rather than the seething hate she always felt for her mother's family.

Oh, maybe the look in Quinn’s eyes when he asked her to marry him, hmmm. It was rare to see him so uncertain, so deliciously worried she wouldn't give him something he wanted. As if she didn't enjoy giving him what he wanted most, mind you.

Lusiel twisted her head to look at Quinn again when she felt a burst of anger come from him, saw that he was frowning heavily down at the pad. He tossed the datapad down, almost uncaring of where it fell or how hard it hit the table's surface. Not a very familiar habit where he was concerned, either. "What is it they want from me, Quinn?" She felt warm in the heat of his angry regard, certain of the strength of his feelings for her right then. She liked it.

The sensation was so pleasant, in fact, that she didn't mention how unimportant such memories were. She barely recalled the anxious anger she endured during those days and weeks after she went with her brother to live with Pella and her husband. The Hejaran household was cold, dark … dingy. So much different than her childhood home with her father, where everything was brightly colored and scarlet bright. To make up for the morose weather common to Dromund Kaas. “Like life itself,” Lucian told them. Red was her favorite color, because it was her father’s favorite color.

Lusiel didn’t remember much of that time in Pella’s house. She was tested over and over again, until the Sith finally took her to Korriban. Then her visits to the place became sporadic over the years, and the only brightness to such moments were in watching her brother’s eyes light up whenever they were together.

He escaped the house, too; Khy spent much of his growing-up years in academies and schools designed to spark his brilliant intelligence. He was strong-willed enough to keep her from truly appreciating his mind, too. Even Quinn wasn’t so skilled as her younger brother. Khyriel tossed her a sardonic grin when she asked him, said, " _Perhaps you just gave me practice enough over the years, Lou. Helps to think other Sith won’t be able to meander their way through my mind, either._ "

Quinn explained now, "It seems a bounty hunter beat one of your young cousins into a veritable pulp. He was serving under Moff Dracen, on Quesh. This Faradin was unconscious for two days, in fact. They've requested you seek out the hunter and, in their words, 'make her pay'." Quinn stated the information baldly.

Lusiel was suddenly curious. The women bounty hunters she had seen over the years were rare enough, at least. They seemed particularly vicious, too. As if they used cruelty to dispute any illusions of perceived weakness. And they were invariably fearless. Few of them backed down from a challenge. Lusiel chuckled, "I'm quite certain he earned every single blow, actually. The Faradins are little more than braying asses; always seeking more, more, more. Attention, mostly. They seem to think they’re important enough."

"No doubt you’re right,” Quinn picked up the datapad again, scanning the message quickly. “I've encountered this particular hunter personally, anyway. She struck me as intelligent, sharply so. Hardly the sort to be goaded into an unnecessary conflict."

"Encountered? When would you have encountered such a woman?"

"During those last days on Balmorra. It seems one of my soldiers illegally acquired a Kowakian monkey-lizard, and the little cretin managed to sabotage much of my space before I finally captured it. I asked the hunter to remove it from every last one of my environs – the planet itself, basically." He smiled ruefully towards his Sith Lord, "It seems she's willing to return the thing to me now, if you choose to seek her out. A neat bit of cozening, there, mind you. I have little doubt the monstrous beast will be loosed on this ship if we do anything to bother the woman."

Lusiel was doubly curious now. The humor of the interaction alone fascinated her. She wondered when she might be able to meet the bounty hunter, but only murmured smilingly, "You liked her."

He nodded slowly, "It was a fascinating exchange." Quinn raised the datapad, tapping against the front of the device. Lusiel watched him working for several moments, considering the various ways she might get him out of that damn uniform. She finally eased herself up, quietly moving to take off her own clothes. He was frowning down at the datapad, considering, "Will you be making a formal reply to your cousins, then?"

That's when Quinn finally glanced over towards her. And he froze, watching as she idly twirled a slender finger against one pale, pink nipple as she crouched on both knees there on the plump surface of the bed, naked. He slowly swallowed as his brilliant blue eyes darkened in that utterly wonderful way Lusiel enjoyed so much. Lusiel smirked, "Tell them he's lucky he lived, rather." Lusiel didn’t care to discuss her cousins anymore.

Quinn groaned, "Later."

"Definitely later."

* * *

The Nikto was big-boned, like most of that race. He had two large horns that jutted out from his forehead like thick spears, even. Mako wondered if he made it a habit to ram people with the front of his head. Like a Reek set on goring you, basically. She couldn’t help but imagine it when he leaned his green, scaly face down to look at her.

Hells, his voice boomed out, too. Although that could be so he was heard over the riotous noise coming from inside the cantina, "We don't just let anyone at all in here. And you're not on my list."

Mako looked around with wide eyes at the line of well-dressed clients hoping for a chance to enter the establishment, all of them standing carefully in the midst of piles of trash and junk down there in the Red Light Sector. She snorted, "Are you kidding me? You've got a list for this place?" She smirked at him as she poked a slender finger into his muscled chest, "There are only a few things you could be selling in there, surrounded by this much garbage, that's worth making a list over just to get through the doors."

He snorted, hard enough that some nasty green … stuff splattered from his nose down over his upper lip. Mako grumbled disgustedly over the display. But the Nikto hissed at her, "Don't try threatening me, little girl. I'll pound you."

She crossed her slender arms across her chest, shrugging unconcernedly, "Try it. Dare you."

The Nikto raised himself up until he towered over Mako, giving her the most ferocious glare he could make. Then he raised a big, meaty-looking fist like he was going to hit her. But he stopped, startled when the blunt end of an electrostaff prodded him in the shoulder. Mako smiled as she stepped aside, making room for Torian's armored form. Torian grunted simply at the Nikto, "Don't."

The Nikto watched Torian idly tapping the controls on the staff that controlled the shocking ends of his electrostaff. He didn’t look overly frightened at the promise of pain. But he did frown over at Mako again, "You have a bodyguard? Damn it all. Who _are_ you?"

Mako's lips twisted into an amused expression as she dramatically wiped her fingernails against the leathers covering her slender chest, "Wanna keep arguing with me? Or let me the fuck by? I've got some people I'm meeting in there."

"Who?"

Mako shook her head, pressing her lips close together as she stared back at him silently. He sighed, then snapped his head around when he noticed a group of Cathar fighters, obvious gang members who were moving towards the cantina entranceway. And all of them were making a beeline for the armored Mandalorian standing next to Mako.

The Nikto sighed like a man weighed down by some tremendous burden, "Just get inside, before those fucking cats decide to attack your damn guard. Last thing I need is the attention of whatever authorities decide to go poking their noses in after a real brawl breaks out down here."

Mako chuckled as she motioned towards Torian, who was already leaning towards the approaching Cathar. He grunted as he followed her through the doors, felt the pulse of music that beat through the space. Until the air itself felt like it was pulsing. The walls and floor glimmered with a brilliant splash of lights and colors swirling in a maddening cacophony.

Torian breathed shallowly to keep the smells of the place from overwhelming him. The sour stench of body odor combined with thick waves of perfumes and lotions and drugs and liquor – so many people, human and otherwise. And all of them pressed tight inside the cantina.

Mako waved high towards the back of the cantina, hopping up and down for one brief moment so that she could be better seen. Torian followed the direction of her gaze, felt his eyes widen as he saw the Wookiee for the first time. He moved slowly after Mako, who was now trotting through the place intently.

The Wookiee was leaning against the wall aside a door leading to one of the cantina's private rooms, growling every once in a while towards a slight Rodian, who's antennae were twitching in agitation as he confronted the hulking creature. "They've asked to see you fight, Bowdarr. Come on! It's good credits, more than you've ever seen before, I swear!"

"Of course. Because the last time I fought on Nar Shaddaa, no one offered me a single credit! I was a slave then, you damned lizard-brain! You can't pay me enough. What I fight for now is greater than credits."

Bowdarr rumbled a loud greeting when Mako reached him. She almost jumped into his outstretched arms. He held her up against his immense frame, until she nearly disappeared into his thick fur. The Rodian actually muttered some more sad sounds before ambling out of the reach of Mako’s slender legs being spun around in a neat circle to knock him back. Mako laughed.

"You are _Mando'ad_."

Torian turned around to face the Zabrak woman who addressed him. She had a fit, well-muscled chest and curvy thighs, covered in mostly white traditional plates of Mandalorian iron. Her skin was red-brown, not overly crimson like some of the Zabraks Torian met through the years; and she sported a neat series of horns in a straight line down the center of her head. Her hair was a rich dark brown, falling in loose tendrils over the front of her face and her eyes gleamed crimson red around a slash of brown-black tattoos.

"So are you," Torian replied, clutching his electrostaff in loose, easy fingers as he considered her. She watched the roll of his fingers against the shaft of the weapon, rumbled a sound of approval.

"I'm called Akaavi Spar."

Torian bowed his chin into a gesture of greeting and respect, "Good clan. Fought with a Spar on Eriadu. He was a brave man." He glanced towards Mako, watched as she plucked against the thick tendrils of fur hanging from Bowdarr's face while the Wookiee rumbled happy sounds. "I'm Torian Cadera."

Akaavi frowned at him, "Jicoln Cadera fought against the Mandalore in the Schism War."

Torian nodded slowly, “Jicoln’s dead. I shot him on Taris." Akaavi grunted in understanding, “I’m looking to regain my clan's honor, too. The smuggler captain promised me a place in the meantime. He's worth fighting alongside, I think."

"He would be. He's the Champion's own blood."

Akaavi blinked. She looked away, shaking her head, "He said the truth, then. Of his sister." She shrugged when Torian shot her a confused glance. She was frowning like Gaibriel was a puzzle she couldn’t quite grasp, "It's hard to tell when he's speaking truly or only offering amusing tales. I thought it might be a human trait. But even for humans he seems … unique."

Torian smiled so lightly only the corners of his mouth curled up, "Maybe he uses laughter, to keep you from figuring him out. So just ask him. Be direct. If he’s anything like Kastiel, he doesn’t lie."

She frowned, hard enough he could see the horn towards the front of her head easing forward. Like the idea hadn’t even occurred to her. "Not a game, then. He uses jokes, like I use my armor. You're right. I’ll ask him outright, see where I stand."

"Put me down, Bow! Come on, knock it off!" Torian turned to watch as Mako was quite literally carted through the nearby door. She was playfully beating against the Wookiee's furry back.

Torian followed them. He heard the hiss of the door sliding closed behind Akaavi as she stepped inside the room just behind him. The sudden quiet, broken only by the continuing pulse of dull noise from outside and the low hum of voices from the other side of the room, was somewhat jarring. Torian slowly looked around, carefully gauging the space for hidden threats.

He sighed lightly when his honeyed gaze found Kastiel. Kas was leaning low over a table against the wall on the far side of the room, her dark head bent so close against another dark-haired head they were just barely shy of butting their foreheads together. Gault was standing there next to the table; he pointed down at the papers and maps strewn across the table the hunter and smuggler were considering just then. A woman stood behind them all, up against the wall itself and bitterly aloof as she watched them.

Torian took the time to examine the unfamiliar figure of Kastiel's brother. The man was lean, with a broad chest; his human frame was covered in one of those jackets so common to Republic freighter captains, with buckles and clasps that wrapped around his torso over a richly brown fabric. His skin was smooth, and pale like Kastiel's, with the barest hint of stubble along his strong-looking jaw. Gaib had turned to glance at the doorway when they came in, and Torian could see his eyes from all the way across the room. That’s how brilliant blue his eyes looked, all framed by thick, inky black lashes and eyebrows. His black hair was cropped short in the back but hung shaggily over his forehead.

Gaibriel smiled when he saw them, calling across the way, "Bow! I've told you time and time again Mako's not a pet you can keep! Corso would mope for fucking days if you took his plaything away." Mako gasped, trying to pull away from Bowdarr so that she reach out to smack Gaibriel. But Bowdarr playfully held her back. The captain laughed loudly, looking even more attractive as he leaned as far back from Mako's reach as he could, his hands held up in false surrender, "Truce, Mako! Sheesh. Didn't mean to get your panties all twisted up like that."

"Nerf shit, Gaib. You knew precisely what you were saying. Don't think I'm not on to you!" Mako shook a slender finger at the attractive ship's captain, who's blue eyes glittered like ocean-colored diamonds as he looked back at her. But then Gaib stiffened when the pretty woman standing against the wall sarcastically purred, "He'd be able to fool you, too, if he really tried, Mako darling."

Mako shrugged as Bowdarr gently settled her back on her feet in front of him, snuffling towards the woman, "I've known Gaib long enough, Risha. I wouldn't go expecting different from him at this point, trust me."

Gaibriel slanted a warning glance at Risha. He'd grant her leeway up to a point, because he knew it was pained anger driving her to smart-ass sneer over his regularly flirtatious nonsense. But there were lines she was treading, here. He was actually grateful when Corso suddenly burst through the door, rushing into the room clutching a datapad of all things.

Corso yelped loudly when Mako caught at him, "Hell, yea! Mako!" She yanked his braided head down, grabbing at his lips with her own. Gaibriel called after them, "Oh hell, no you don’t! I just know you have a room for that! If _I_ can't play right across the length of the table, here, neither can you. So knock it off!"

Risha harrumphed. "The real question would be who _you'd_ play with, wouldn't it, captain?"

Gaib turned, his face practically stormy now. He opened his mouth, prepared to say something. But Kastiel interjected smoothly enough, Torian thought she was that practiced at keeping her little brother from getting into trouble with his mouth. She only drawled slowly, "I can just see it now. Between two Mandoes and a Wookiee in this room together, the beat-down would be epic. My second in as many days, mind you. I swear it, Risha. If any one of my crew ends up with busted knuckles again, I'm sooo blaming you."

Risha sniffed. The Wookiee shuffled closer to her, obviously trying to comfort the woman. He stood close enough to her Bowdarr ended up looking like a big carpet pinned up on the wall there. Like a hunt's trophy, maybe. Torian heard stories of Trandoshans who hunted Wookiees. But Mandalorians were more likely to consider the furred race of Wookiees as worthy opponents, to be respected more than any sort of prey.

Risha leaned against Bowdarr now. She ignored Gaib's stony expression as she chuckled towards his sister, "Well, it's not like we have to wonder about you playing around, Kas. Still not seeing anyone, hmm?"

Torian's gaze sharpened even as Gaib started to stand up. But Kastiel butted her shoulder into her brother’s side, hard enough he grunted and glared over at her as he rubbed the spot, murmuring, "Ah, damn it, Kas! Don't do that, it hurts!" She only grinned back at Gaib, before glancing towards Torian. Her dark eyes looking like melted candy to him, "No, Risha. I’m not seeing anyone, really. Although I could be talked into it. By the right guy."

Gaibriel turned to look at Torian, narrowing his own eyes as he sliced his icy gaze up and down the Mandalorian's armored figure. He grumbled, "Well. That leaves us with Mr. Quiet, here. Since everyone else is pretty obvious at this point. So what about it, Mando. You seeing anyone?"

Torian didn’t look away from Kastiel, though. He watched her like she was a piece of sweet he only wanted to taste, to smooth his tongue against and savor slowly. Kastiel felt a warm tingle of excitement edging along her spine, as Torian murmured, "No. Thinking about it, though."

Corso guffawed, throwing his head back so that his braids slapped against his shoulders, "I like him, captain. He doesn't let you get the best of him." Then Corso leaned over the table, dropping the datapad he was carrying on top of the papers and maps already there. He never let loose of Mako, though. Just pulled the smallish female closer to him, until she was nestled up against him like a warm blanket he cherished, and Corso pointed, "Now, missus Kastiel. Maybe you can tell us why the SIS is suddenly intent on finding 'anyone who knows or possesses information pertaining to the Mandalore's champion' …"


	69. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious smexy times ahead, just heads-up. And everything they say to each other is in Mando'a, too.

Gaibriel warned him against hurting Kastiel. It made Mako laugh with adorable fervor, as if Gaib was telling some fantastic joke. But Corso pulled the little female out of the room and Gaibriel just stared unsmiling over at Torian. Torian didn’t even look over at Kastiel, who butted her brother’s shoulder again and gathered her gear back up. He just stared back at the captain, and he lifted his chin.

Mostly because he remembered Gaib right then. Torian remembered the boy Gaibriel was, and the way he hunkered in the alcove made by the freight cargo outside the spaceport to shelter from the blast of the grenade. The way he curled himself around his one sister and his eyes burned hot with anxious anger as he lost the other one. That terrible, ringing voice, “Go find the other two …” And then the heat and blast of sound and Gaib’s world was ruined, and all he had left was the small girl he was holding onto and he was promising her, " _Shhh, Cam. Won't let them get you, I promise_."

So it didn't matter how much Mako laughed. Torian understood what it was, to believe for so many years that Kastiel was gone only to have her again. Gaibriel lost her that day, and now she was here. And he was determined to protect her, better than he did when terrible men were shaking her through the air by her neck. Torian did understand him. So he tilted his chin up, solemnly nodding towards the smuggler captain. He _liked_ Kastiel's brother.

Torian clucked his tongue towards Kas' monkey-lizard now. He lifted up the bit of meat left from his brief night-time meal, and he waved it towards Quinnie. The creature eyed the food suspiciously, only because Torian's cooking was often more spicy than the monkey-lizard was willing to tolerate. Quinnie usually waited until Mako wasn't looking and grabbed things from her plate. Because Torian ensured her food remained bland the way she preferred.

But tonight Quinnie snatched at the piece of fowl dangling from Torian's fork, before skittering off towards some lonely section of the ship. Torian watched him go, shaking his head and smiling. He knew the monkey-lizard would actually store the meat, just wait for it to soften from rotting before he finally consumed it. It was mostly typical monkey-lizard dietary inclination. But Quinnie also enjoyed tormenting Gault’s more fine-faced sensibilities, too. The game between them was generally entertaining.

The quiet hum from the ship's idling generators provided a comforting backdrop to the late hour, even if Two’s tinkering motions below the stairs broke the utter stillness. Kastiel was adamant the droid maintain a strict cleaning routine – something about the condition of the ship when she acquired it. Torian didn’t really ask. Gault complained more than enough for all of them, anyway.

Torian yawned as he leaned his head back against the wall. His stomach was full, and he settled there in the dark shadows of the mess feeling replete and comfortable. He just watched the splash of colored light that glittered across the ceiling, where it streamed down from the open windows of the observer port on the bridge. The lights of Nar Shaddaa lit the dimness of the ship’s interior with garish display. He closed his eyes, drifting quietly.

Torian lifted his head when he heard a dull thump, like something falling. He blinked slowly as he scanned towards the front half of the Bad Boy, towards the opening of the narrow hall that lead onto the bridge.

Kastiel was the only other person on board. He had watched her stumble slightly when she passed him on her way towards her quarters. She was reeling just slightly from the alcohol they consumed at the cantina, and complaining how her brother seemed so barely affected by the huge amount of liquor he downed.

Mako disappeared with Corso early into the night. Then Gault handed Kas off to Torian before skipping away … somewhere. Torian imagined the devaronian was busily frittering his way along the Nar Shaddaa promenade, actually. Maybe he really would lose his second horn by the time the Bad Boy left the planet. Perhaps, and Torian shrugged as he considered the chance.

But Torian only ensured that Kastiel returned to the Bad Boy, then watched her as she went down towards her quarters. He was glad when she quieted into sleep. Only because he knew very well she didn’t sleep for the several days prior; and the brief catnaps she took on various transports didn’t count, either. But letting go of her was becoming so much harder to do, too.

He wanted to hold her so that she slept through the low hours of the night.  
He wanted to know her dreams weren’t darker for him not being there.  
He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone and she didn’t need to look for him.

But she was _Mando’ad_. And he respected her. The Clans and the Mandalore would know that much. He _wanted_ them to know it, that it wasn’t her shape or her body he wanted so much. No, he wanted forever for her. So that’s what he would give her.

The dark was only tormenting her, though. He caught Kastiel dozing in the bridge seat nearby Mako as they navigated towards Nar Shaddaa, caught her leaning her head back against the wall of the Nar Shaddaa taxis aside Gault. Like she was soothed by the presence of the others. Except brief snatches of rest didn't make much of a dent in the exhaustion he sensed was aching in her. He hated it. So when she fell asleep tonight, he was happy enough and he went to make himself something to eat.

Now he watched Kastiel burst out from the doorway into the open space of the dim mess deck. She was ashen, her skin gleaming with sweat under the brief nightshirt and pants she was wearing, and her feet were bare against the hard metal floor. She actually padded across the tiles towards the conservator. Kas leaned wearily onto the counter as she gulped down some cold water, gasping tiredly. Torian pulled his fingers into fists as he sat there, watching Kastiel flatten her palms against the surface of the counter as she fought to regain her breath. She struggled to calm herself, counting each breath as she stayed there.

Torian shifted then. He knew she would hear him, because Kastiel didn’t reduce her implants working even in the latest hours. It might have helped her sleep, to escape the vibrant sounds of the world around her. But she simply didn’t trust enough, to lose so much of her senses when she was already so scared of the dark. It meant she heard Torian now, and Kastiel spun around to look at him, startled.

He breathed out heavily. Someone watching them might have called it a deep sigh. Except it really was Torian finally deciding, and he moved. He climbed to his feet and slowly stalked towards her. She watched him approach, just stood there watching him move. Then she sighed his name, “Torian.” Like she was looking for him and finally, finally found him.

The relief in her voice made him ache. Especially when he noticed her eyes growing darker, so much darker. Until her eyes looked just barely black and the solace of his presence was easing into determination to hold onto him. Like she would _keep_ him right there and close to her, no matter what even he said. Torian drew it in with every breath. That sense he was needed so badly, wanted so much.

"I'm here,"Torian told her. He reached out to cup her chin in the palm of his hand, rubbed his fingers against the scars along her jaw. Kastiel gulped against the tears that pressed behind her eyes, and never mind how hard she refused to cry. She refused … But he only hushed her, leaning down to press his lips against the corner of her mouth, "You don't sleep, Kas."

She tilted her head, turning her chin so he had better access. Torian grunted softly, to keep from disturbing her tender hearing. He ran his lips and tongue along the scarred side of her face. Until he finally reached her ear. He yanked the lobe, there, into his mouth, suckled the soft flesh and listened to her moan gently. She murmured, "It's dark in there. I couldn’t find you, Tor.” Kastiel blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate on what he was doing rather than the dark behind her.

She laid her forehead down against his shoulder. Kas felt weak, so utterly drained. Like she hadn't slept in years. "I just … need. You. I need you," she hiccupped.

Torian buried his face in the tangles of her hair, squeezing his eyes shut as he held onto her. Then he reached down, grabbing her just under the curved lines of her buttocks to yank her up and off her feet. Kas clung to him. She looped her loosely around his neck, with her thighs draped against his hips so that her feet dangled behind him.

Torian carried her out of the mess, moving steadily towards her quarters. She was quiet as they went, just lying limp against his chest. But he still stopped before going inside. He leaned over to blow a soft pulse of air against her ear, "Kas? It’s your choice, Kas. Let me know if it’s okay."

She lowered her legs from around him, until her bare feet were set onto the cold floor again. She looked up at him then, and he felt the thrill of her gaze on him all over again. He knew she was aching, too. And he groaned so low it was nearly a growl of sound. Of want. She pulled against the back of his neck, until his forehead lay against hers. And she demanded, "Don’t you leave me alone. Not ever again, Torian. Damn it, promise me. Swear it!"

Torian would've smiled at the command – because it _was_ a command, a vivid, utterly solid command, and no sputtering it, either. But there was real fear and desperation driving her to it, and he knew that, too. His Kastiel fought; she didn’t stop fighting. Not even the dark that scared her. So he told her, "I'm right here, Kas. I promise." Then he pushed her through the door, following her inside and only barely glancing around long enough to find the bed.

He frowned when he saw the tangled covers streaming onto the floor and hanging half-off the cushions of the bed, "You fell, damn it." Torian grunted as he yanked her around in front of him, his gaze sweeping down her figure, looking for bruises.

But Kas was reaching for the buckles of his chestplate, pulling against them with shaking fingers. She wanted him bare, but she was still moving uncertainly. Like she was asking his permission. Torian smiled and hummed, reaching for her hands and pulling them up towards his face. He kissed the soft flesh at the base of her palms, one and then the other. Then he draped her arms around his neck again.

He hushed her when she started to say something, standing close as he quickly unfastened the pieces holding his armor in place. He let the plates slide down to clatter against the floor. She tried dropping her arms, but he murmured to her, “No. Don't let go of me."

Torian toed off his boots and then reached for the ties holding Kastiel’s shirt together. He pulled at the strings quickly, listened to the rasp of the fabric over his bare fingers and the panting little whimpers that excited him even more. He felt hot, like his skin was on fire.

He wanted nothing as much he wanted her naked right then. He wanted the cloth that still covered her just gone, to touch her bare body, toss her down against the cushions of the bed and lose himself inside of her. To pump between her thighs until he was finished, until his want was done.

Torian hissed between his teeth, stopped moving suddenly to press his forehead against her temple. He was burning so hard he was afraid he'd hurt her. So he only breathed in her scent, panting. She smelled sweet. Like sugar and liquor, and hot, too. Like the oils she used to care for her armor and weapons.

Then she wriggled against him, moaning. She pressed her thighs against his groin, with only the fabric of their pants separating them and she moaned. Torian looked down at her, "Are you scared?"

"No," Kastiel leaned her head far enough back to look up at him. Kas smiled sultrily. She looked so damned feminine, so fucking pretty his cock pulsed solidly against his thigh as he watched her.

He groaned when she did let go of him then. Because she slowly grabbed the opened edges of her shirt and pushed it off her shoulders so that it slid down, skimming her back to land in a soft puddle on top of his armor. Torian’s eyes turned golden, flaring hot as he looked at her. Just looked. She eased her hands up along her sides, curling her fingers against her chest until she cupped her own breasts and watched Torian's gaze focused there, heated. "You’ve never scared me, Torian,” Kastiel liked the way he looked at her, even.

He growled yet again, and she laughed softly at the number of hungry sounds he kept making. Torian yanked his own shirt over his head and flung it somewhere; he didn't even glance to see where it went because his gaze was focused entirely on the soft motions of her fingers against her nipples. "You drive me mad," he said, pushing against his pants until they fell down onto the floor and he was naked facing her.

She looked, watched him the entire time. Torian’s body was strong and firm, with well-toned muscles that twisted and pulled as he moved. He showed her just how hard and hot that his skin was, too. He pushed her hands back onto his shoulders as he reached for the fastenings of her own pants, pushed them down over her curved hips and groaned some more. She smiled, nuzzling the bottom of his chin, "And I like _that_ , too."

Torian grunted, "Figured that out a long time ago." She was bared to him, and the thrill of it made his entire body feel tighter. He reached for her mouth, groaned against her lips just before thrusting his tongue between them. Kas clutched the back of his neck, ran her fingers through the short hair against his nape. Then he pressed closer, rubbed his chest against the soft pillows of her breasts. Up and then down again, until her nipples hardened even more and they were just perky nubs stabbing against his chest as she grew even more excited.

She felt her knees starting to buckle. But he caught her, throwing his arm around her waist to hold her hard against him as his mouth continued drinking from hers. He soaked the moans spilling from her. She clutched at him, digging her nails into the skin of his neck like she was so desperate to have him even closer.

He yanked her hips into the cradle of his own, rubbed himself against her cleft and groaned heatedly against her mouth at the power of the sensation, "Kas. My Kas. You're so wet already."

"Want you. For so long."

"I’ll give you what you want."

He picked her up again, moving quick to lay her down across the length of the bed. Her legs dangled over the side. Then he pushed himself between her thighs, using his own hips to spread her legs apart. So his groin was cushioned up against the sweet, moist curves of her own.

He bent down so that he could kiss her again. He pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth, before running his tongue down over her pouting chin to bury his mouth against the soft skin of her throat. Kas leaned her head sideways, moaning as he licked and nibbled along the sensitive skin under her ear. And her hips started undulating and bumping along Torian’s. He wrapped his hands around her waist, and moved her against him rhythmically.

She began making whimpering, appealing little sounds as she tried to entice him. But he pressed himself harder against her, holding her in place as she tried twisting even more. He hissed a commanding noise that she stay still, keep from exciting him to much, too fast. Torian was afraid he’d spill against the sheets; he could feel the tingle in his scrotum that threatened he would come too soon. He jerked lower, pressing his hips hard into the side of the bed and froze there. He breathed roughly.

Kastiel ran her palms up to hold his tensed shoulders and nuzzled her nose along the side of his temple, breathed into his ear, "Don't stop, Tor."

"Can't stop. That's the problem. I want you to like this."

Torian leaned up, held his arms straight with his hands planted firmly on either side of her dark head. He looked down at her, and saw that she was watching him. Her eyes were like the darkest earth, like forever. Her hair spread out behind her, brief tendrils that shook damply against the pale sheets. He thought madly she'd be looking to cut it soon. Then Torian scanned down her front, to the pink tips of her breasts, and he wondered how in the hell he'd manage to keep himself in check long enough.

Torian groaned like he was starving, and he bent towards her breast, pulled the nipple into his mouth and sucked. Soft at first. Then hard, dragging pulls that pressed the flesh between his warm tongue and soft roof of his mouth. She writhed under him, clutching at the sheets with clawing fingers as she whined and mewled.

"Torian! Feels good!" She bucked her hips, pressing her warm center up against his belly. And Torian rolled his abdomen up along her, gathering the moisture from her sex against his hard length. He felt his control slipping, his body starting to shake from holding himself back. But he had never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted to be inside her right then. He felt like he would die if he didn't do it.

He swept his hand down, sliding it along her shoulder and then down over her stomach. He moved his fingers into and through the moist folds of her sex, testing her for readiness. He was determined at least not to hurt her.

He growled low again, a brief rumble of sound against the soft flesh under her breast where he was licking and nibbling. He told her, "Next time ... I’ll make it better. I promise." Kas was confused - better than what, when it was already so damn good? She watched dazedly as he reared up, standing there next to the bed to grasp her slender waist and yank her towards him. She gasped when her thighs flew even more wide apart as he pulled her sex into him.

Torian looked down at her, and she watched as beads of sweat ran down from his forehead along the side of his face, marveled at him as she saw him coming undone.

He kept her waist clasped in his hands, dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her rear. He canted his hips just slightly enough so the head of his cock slipped and slid against the wet moisture surrounding her opening.

Kas whimpered and her hands flew up to catch his forearms, held onto him as he pushed just into her. He moved his hips back and forth so that he was able to get inside. He pushed harder, and he dropped his head to watch himself disappear into her, groaned loudly, "Tight. You’re so tight. You feel so good, Kas." Then he reached that brief, thin barrier deep inside her, and he stopped.

Torian looked back up, stared into her eyes. His golden eyes gleamed down at her, shining like she was giving him … everything. Like she was the most extraordinary thing he ever held, even.

It shouldn’t matter. If Kastiel had taken someone else before, it wouldn’t have offended him. Or changed how much he loved her. But it still meant something profound to him, actually _feeling_ that no one had ever touched her the way he was right then. No one ever pressed inside of her, or moved along her body as she bit her lip so delicately and watched him above her. And he could feel it, the newness of her experience, and her pleasure. That he was her own first, and no one else would ever be that much to her.

It made his body tighten even harder with rough, masculine possessiveness. Maybe he shouldn’t feel so primitive, so meanly pleased to have her just there and starting to surround his own hard flesh. But he _did_ feel that much, and he told her, growling down at her, “Mine, Kastiel. Do you hear?” It was a promise. She grabbed onto it, too. Held onto it as fiercely as she tightened her fingers into his forearms, and nodded back at him. And that's when he thrust fast, breaking past the membrane to sink all the way inside her.

Kastiel hissed in burning pain, and she bit her lip. She dug her nails hard into the skin of his arms, scratching him hard enough she left bloodened furrows just above his wrists. They stayed there, frozen for long moments.

Then she looked up at him, saw that he had thrown his head back to breathe deep, huge gasps as he held himself still against her. She whispered to him, "I hurt you." He snorted as he leaned his head down to examine the marks, "I like seeing you marked me, Kas." Torian lifted her hips again, raising her higher against him as he slowly rolled himself back and forth in her. She gasped, looking down to watch him moving and she pressed herself into his motion.

"Wrap your legs around me, Kas. Like that, yea," he gripped her waist firmly. He could feel her thighs squeezing against his hips, and he told her, "Hold onto me, _Cyare_." Torian began thrusting into her, churning his hips. He ran himself through the warm channel. He felt her sweetly soft muscles clenching against him, trying to hold onto him. The sensation was incredible, so damn staggering that he began interspersing each beat of his groin into her with more growling sounds.

Kas responded with her own moans, running her hands up until she held onto his shoulders. Like he demanded; she held him hard, almost frantic as she pulled him down against her.

Torian leaned over her until his elbows were pressed into the bed. He wrapped his hands over the top of her shoulders tightly, bracing her against him as he began thrusting harder, harder. So that he didn't push her straight up and across the entire bed. Kas buried her face against his throat, felt the moistness of his skin there, the sweat pooling and running down between their bodies until they were both wetly rubbing against each other.

She was whining agitatedly against him, almost crying as she twisted; she was trying to get closer and trying to move away all at the same time. Torian could just barely sense her becoming nearly scared at the growing tension, and he grunted to her, "It’s all right. I’m right here. Right here … I have you, Kas. Yes!" Kastiel felt herself coming apart, exploding. She shook and trembled as waves of the most intense pleasure washed through her, so powerful she shouted out loud to the room.

Torian held her throughout her orgasm; he comforted her, murmuring soft sounds into her ear. And he utterly enjoyed the sensation -- the way she tightened and squeezed his cock with those perfect little muscles inside of her, the way she bit and scratched against his collarbone and shoulders, the way she shook and her heels bounced against the backs of his thighs.

He leaned his head down, laid his mouth against the shell of her ear and ran his tongue in a gliding motion all along the curved edge. He whispered, "Kas ... so beautiful." Then he moved again, hard. He pounded against her firm, slender body with forceful motions. Until everything came together, the sensation blooming. And he came, spilling himself inside of her as he flung his head back, moaning her name. Claiming her with every jerk of his hips.

She caught him when he collapsed down onto her, his head buried in the cushion of the bed just above her shoulder. She smiled, even as her legs continued trembling wrapped around him still. Her hands drifted down across his sweaty back as he panted roughly. He mumbled, "You ... okay?"

Kastiel only hummed something agreeable. She frowned when he hefted himself back up onto his knees. He slowly swung his hips side to side, testing. Kas winced, watched as he nodded before pulling himself away from her, his hand caressing down the damp skin of her hip just before he left her. She leaned up onto her elbows, frowning as he went into the refresher and emerged holding a wet cloth.

"I can do that," she murmured, her cheeks feeling hot. But he shook his blonde head.

"Let me take care of you, Kas. Stop it," he gently patted her hands out of the way as he went about cleaning her. He grunted gently as he washed the small bit of blood from between her thighs with slow, gentle swipes.

Then Torian dropped the towel, and he grasped the covers still lying in a heap on the floor so he could toss them over her. She moved around under the covers, trying to find the head of the bed. Kastiel laughed when he leaped under to help her, playfully yanking and pulling her, tickling her softly until they were both laying back against the pillows.

He pulled her against him until her back pressed against his chest in a delicious spoon-position and she sighed drowsily. He nuzzled the back of her ear, breathing out, "Sleep now, Kas. I’ll be here."

They lay there quietly, listening to the hum of the ship around them. She drifted, nearly asleep and more comfortable than she could ever remember being. Even as the soft center of her sex twinged with gentle burning, too. But everything felt so _right_ , so safe. She was content. She whispered quietly to him, "How do you say the words?"

He understood. " _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"I do, too."

He held her tighter against him, felt her body going slack as she finally fell asleep. He smiled slowly as he held her, felt her quieting at last. He breathed her scent into his nostrils, the soft smell of their loving against the air. And he slowly closed his eyes, "I'm here now. I have you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found it a bit disconcerting that Torian would become intimate with the hunter, even before asking her to marry him. Mandalorian tradition normally specified chastity before marriage. I always assumed it was much like our own culture - frowned on but not necessarily stringently adhered to, either.
> 
> Even then, though, Torian always took a more serious bent when it came to questions of honor. Plus he respected Mandalorian women too much to ask for any sort of intimate relationship before he "proved himself". So that's why I went in this direction, here.
> 
> Because even greater than his drive to solidify his commitment to Kastiel, is his need to keep her safe, to provide for her and her needs. Even when it's just comfort and sleep. And besides. Marriage is kind of a given at this point, in his mind.
> 
> I hope it works, fingers crossed.


	70. Dxun

The _zakkeg_ burst through the driving rain. It warbled a maddened cry of rage and aggression as it rushed towards them, its plated backside glistening with water and mud from the storm.

Corridan shouted a warning, trying to leap out of the creature's way. But he cursed loudly as his feet slipped from underneath him. He slid pathetically through the squelching mud of the jungle floor to land in a soggy and metallic lump onto his back. He was certain he would be trampled under the massive paws of the stocky animal's feet. The _zakkeg_ even trumpeted what sounded like a victorious roar as it spied the downed Mandalorian, and turned its beady snout in his direction. Corridan sighed as the thing came at him; he held his chin up and waited, felt the ground shaking under him as the _zakkeg_ came closer and closer.

And then the _zakkeg_ belched out a vicious cry of pain and distress, when one of the other warriors jetted into the side of its head with force enough its charge was neatly turned aside. The beast's momentum was still hard, though. So that it ran face first into the yawning trunk of a towering tree just to the side of where Corridan lay splayed out like he was a flat cake on a hot cooking surface.

Corridan shouted his warrior’s name, calling him, "Jagger!" Then he twisted his frame, trying to pull his legs up under him so that he could get up and fight, help Jagger to confront the creature.

The Mandalorians were all yelling; they moved quickly towards the downed figure of their _alor'ad_ and grabbed him under both arms, yanking and pulling him towards a more reasonable distance from the bleeding, hurting _zakkeg_. Jagger was closest to the beast, standing as firmly as he could in the muddy soil of the ground nearby the tree. He watched as the _zakkeg_ swung around, fast enough blood flew from its torn-up jaws to splatter against the tree trunk and the ground around it and even Jagger's own boots. He grunted roughly, while Corridan shouted angrily towards the warriors around him to help Jagger kill the animal.

Jagger raised up his rifle and sighted down the end. Then he fired, loosing a bolt that flew across the short distance towards the soft vulnerable section of neck under the _zakkeg's_ horned head. The _zakkeg_ bleated wetly through the new hole in its neck, spinning its head once again from the pain of the wound. Its flailing motion managed to slam its own head back against the tree, gouging another huge gash into the wood and even more deep wounds into its skull. More blood gushed from the dying animal's mouth, sprayed out onto the wet soil and against the tree, too.

Corridan pulled himself straight, staring as the _zakkeg_ fell down onto the ground. Its last breath huffed loudly through the wet, humid air. The Mandalorian troop froze, everyone stopping to gaze in bewilderment at the downed monster of a trophy. Corridan glared across the way towards Jagger, frowning, "Well. Damn it. You ruined my skillful kill of the thing, Jagger. I was laying there waiting for it to expose its belly to my attack. Didn't you see?"

Snorts and chuckles gradually descended into wild gales of laughter. They laughed loudly, the heady sound rising above the steady dripping of the rain and interspersed with cheers and shouts of victory: "Oya! Oya, Jagger!"

* * *

Corridan found Torian kneeling down next to Jagger, close enough to the fire that Jagger was able to see whatever he was looking at as he leaned over Torian's arm.

Corridan stopped to stare at his friend silently for a moment, remembering the first time he ever laid eyes on the blonde Mandalorian. Torian was just thirteen at the time. But even then there were stories of his bravery skipping through the clans; tales that described his _verd’goten_ and the reek he destroyed when he couldn’t save Korwis in a Geonosis arena. Oh, and then the pirates he killed only some days later, too.

That alone would’ve impressed Corridan. But Korwis spent years telling everyone in Ordo about Torian, too. He declared Torian would show all the Clans what a Mandalorian was supposed to be, said, " _He fights like his father always did. Like he doesn’t know anything but a single, focused way to win over any enemy. Torian doesn’t stop until the fight’s absolutely finished._ " It wasn’t brashness, or fierceness that made Torian stand out, though. It was a quiet sort of patience, rather. A sheer, enduring tenacity. It defined him so utterly, that Corridan almost felt sorry for the opponents who faced Torian across a battlefield.

Except those enemies didn’t like Corridan so much, either. And his sympathy didn’t extend far enough to let them destroy his own people. So he easily unleashed Torian on them, whenever they were that foolish enough to face the _Mando’ad_.

Now Corridan edged closer to the two younger warriors, trying to see what it was Jagger was etching into Torian's arm. He joked, "Are you telling me you took a bite from one of the _maalraas_ , Torian? You must be out of practice, if you’re letting little cats nip you."

Jagger laughed aloud, "Oh, I don't think Torian minded this little cat's claws."

"Shut up, Jagger, and finish it," Torian's ears tinged pink as he looked down at his arm, pointedly ignoring Jagger's chuckles as the Mirialan bent back to his task. Corridan leaned over, trying to better see the marks. Jagger swiped a cloth across Torian's arm just then, clearing away the extra ink as he repositioned the cauterizing tool he was using to apply the tattoo.

Corridan hummed in admiration. Jagger's dark brown-colored design highlighted the scratches made onto Torian’s lower arm. Four slender gouge marks made by human nails. The paint extended down into an intricate lighting pattern that circled the lower half of Torian's arm until it neatly swirled around his wrist, all of it marking and emphasizing the nail marks. The art was vivid and exceptional. Like much of Jagger's work, actually.

Corridan grinned over at Torian, "You _fighting_ the champion now? Or does she just want her claim to be that clear?" Corridan smirked when Jagger laughed again, nearly falling over from the hard peals of laughter he loosed into the nighttime air. Torian glared up at Corridan, although his brown eyes glittered with humor, "If the art's ruined because you made him laugh, it's you I'll be blaming, Cor."

"Hey! Don't ever accuse a Mirialan of screwing up a good tattoo! We know tattoos! It's in the damn blood, I swear." Jagger shook his head in disgust at the thought, reaching for the wand once again so that he could go back to applying the ink to Torian's arm. Corridan settled himself next to them, listening to the sizzling sound of the cauterizing tool as Jagger put the final touches on the tattoo he had been creating over the past several days.

"There. The mark's made, Torian," Jagger twisted Torian's arm back and forth, as they all stared down at the design critically.

Torian murmured, "Almost as good a work as you taking down that _zakkeg_ , Jagger. Thank you."

Jagger grunted, pleased. "Would've been happier if you admitted it was better than the _zakkeg_ , actually. But I'll take whatever compliments I can get." He clapped Torian on the back, looking serious all of a sudden, "Let me know when you want the matching mark made. I'll come to meet her."

Torian glanced down at the tattoo, "Soon."

"I know it, Torian. She’s _mando’ad_." Jagger chuckled one more time as he gathered up his tools, "I'm going to finish preparing my trophy for transport. Been a good hunt!" Torian smiled as the green-skinned Mandalorian rushed off towards the drying carcass he'd trussed up earlier. He began applying the salve Jagger had prepared for him beforehand, determined to preserve the color in the mark on his arm.

Corridan leaned his head back, smiling with amusement towards his friend, "I always figured she was fierce enough. Even for you. But to scar you so soon? She's not as patient as you are, huh?"

Torian rubbed against the tattoo on his arm, gliding his fingers across the ghost-like lines of Kastiel's nail-marks against his skin and the ink that now emphasized them. He smiled lightly, thoughtful, "She’s waited years, actually. She's _her_ , Corridan. From Dromund Kaas. The one I saw fighting, that Aily and Korwis saved."

Corridan fell quiet, just staring at Torian for several long moments. He breathed in slowly, then sighed out, "There's meaning to what you share together, then. That kind of bond is rare. I would say she was always part of the _manda_ , that you saw it in her even then. It's why she always meant so much to you, why she stayed in you all these years."

Torian nodded slowly, listening to his friend carefully. Corridan's respect for the spiritual and the arcane was deeply rooted. They had spent countless hours together contemplating esoteric questions, arguing over personal meaning and individual responsibility – what it was to be alive, to die, what to fight for, and what it all made them in the end. Now Torian breathed out deeply, "She's _everything_ , Corridan."

Corridan grinned, "Is this why you didn't bring her here for the hunt? Afraid I might have been able to entice the champion into fighting alongside me instead, heh?"

"No." Torian shook his head, slanting a wicked grin towards him, "But I would've been pissed watching you try. I'd rather wait. Until my mark's as firmly on her as hers is on me."

"Well, you'd better hurry it up, Torian.” Corridan smirked, “There are plenty of Mandoes that will succeed in pissing you off if you take too long."

* * *

"The Lhosan Duster is a speeder of stellar design, perfect for such a discerning customer as you yourself, I'm sure." The salesman waved his dark-skinned hands excitedly, trying to entice Kastiel towards a closer examination of the stupid bikes. She sighed, glancing to the side towards Mako. Mako glared at her in return, tapping her small foot impatiently.

"Are you kidding, Kas? This is the fourth speeder we've looked at today, for crying out loud! What's wrong with this one?" Mako pointed agitatedly at the machine. Kastiel grinned toothily at her.

"It's too long."

"Long? What the fuck do you mean by too long?"

"Looks like a needle-thing, all stretched out and long. And I don't like the paint color."

"Oh gods, I give up."

Gault chuckled as he leaned over the speeder, set up on a pedestal in the market section of the Imperial spacedock. He poked and prodded against the thing's controls. Except then the salesman angrily pushed his hands away, muttering something that sounded like "alien refuse". Gault rolled his eyes, "Bet you'd take my credits, though, huh?"

The short human glared at him, so that his thin, angular face took on a very rat-like appearance. Very unappealing, Kas thought. Kastiel chuckled towards Mako, "I bet you real credits Gault was better at selling speeders than this asshole. On Tatooine, to boot."

Mako was rigid now, after the little rat of a man insulted Gault. She stood there now like a stiff little statue. Hell, she didn't even glance at the shiny speeders on their pretty stands anymore. Well, there was at least some small benefit from the ordeal of tramping along through the damn market stalls then, Kas thought. Gods, she hated shopping. How did anyone put up with this much bullshit on such a routine basis, Kastiel wondered.

Mako snorted, "No bet, Kas. I think we both know this idiot isn't getting a single one of _our_ credits at least."

"See? I told you my little Orlean speeder was good enough." Kastiel smirked as they started sauntering away from the stall, leaving behind the now spluttering salesman who stared after them unhappily. Kastiel wondered how much in bribes the man paid to get the plum little niche against the wall of the Vaiken Spacedock where he set his speeders, actually. Robbing him of the chance to make a piddling profit practically made her day. Especially when Gault followed her, a big goofy-looking grin stretching across his red, angular face.

"Don't think I'm going to drop it, either. That Orlean thing you ride around on is a piece of shit," Mako sniffed as she dropped into place behind her. She was practically stomping her foot. Again. This argument was becoming entirely too old, Kas thought.

"Hey, I like it. It fits all my junk there on the back."

"You got the junk part right, at least."

Kastiel stopped, staring hard at Mako with a bemused expression on her face, "What the hell's wrong, Mako? Shit, if you want a new speeder, I'll buy you one."

Mako sighed, "It's not me that needs one. Come on, Kas! You're the Grand Champion, and you still ride around on a crappy old speeder _and_ a beat-up old ship. We're making enough credits now that you can afford nice things."

Gault watched the confused frown on Kastiel's face deepen, and he laughed, "Mako, face it. Kastiel is one of those incredibly unique females who honestly doesn't give a shit about 'nice' things. Girl, you have to sell her on the practicality of a thing in order to truly entice her."

Mako narrowed her gaze as she contemplated the Devaronian, "Fine. Let's see you do better."

"Is this a dare, my beauteous companion here in my aged retirement?"

"Aged retirement, my ass. And hell yea it's a dare!"

"What do I get when I win?"

" _When_ you win? Please. _If_ you win, I'll buy you that snazzy pair of pants I saw you eyeing at that stall down the way. When you lose, though, you have to feed Quinnie every night for a week!"

"You're on." Gault slapped his hands together as he smile flirtatiously towards Kastiel then. She had spent the entire time they hashed out the particulars of their bet glancing back and forth between them like they were playing a game of pong right there in front of her. Gault fought back a laugh, purring, "Kas, my sweet. Have you considered that our utterly adorable Mando companion, oh so recently added to our traveling troupe, lacks a suitable land speeder of his own? He's been borrowing mine ever since he joined the crew, mind you."

Kastiel frowned roughly, "Shit, you’re right. You think someone on this floating bucket of a spacedock would have a spare Orlean they're trying to get rid of? Come on, let's go find one."

Mako's jaw dropped as Kastiel turned and marched back towards the market section of the spacedock without even looking to see if they were following her. Gault chuckled as he meandered after her, "Better go and grab me my new pants, Mako. Chop, chop."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dxun was one of the four moons that orbited the planet Onderon. The surface of the moon was covered in large expanses of jungle, that were inhabited by large, fierce predatory animals. Much like Onderon. In fact, Dxun's orbit carried it so close to Onderon that the two worlds actually shared atmosphere for much of the summer months. This is probably why so many of the species common to Onderon were also found on Dxun.
> 
> Zakkegs were large predatory beast, alot like boars. They had a thick, scaly hide that was tough to penetrate, even with the most powerful weapons. For Mandalorians, beating a Zakkeg was a singular honor, because the large, aggressive creatures were quite capable of killing even the strongest warriors. Meetra Surik killed a Zekkeg in order to prove herself to the Mandalore, for passage to Onderon during the events of KOTOR II.
> 
> And hey! The competition that eventually became the Great Hunt originated on Dxun. A test of skill, the Hunt was originally restricted to Mandalorians. Over time, it was extended to include warriors and fighters from throughout the Galaxy.


	71. A Traitor's Death

_She whimpered; she could feel the vibration it made against her throat. But the pain was sharply burning, and it was terrible. Like the wetness against her face was really the chemical Tobie showed her; like it was the acid that ate straight through the decaying flesh of those cadavers he was required to incinerate. Everything was so quiet. The silence was heavy on her skin, against her ears. It was smothering her … The quiet hurt. And the dark. It hurt, it all hurt!_

_Dripping onto her face, running down her neck onto her little chest. She pressed against the heaviness over her, pressed hard. But she couldn't move. She began to panic, whimpering madly, agitated as she tried to move, to get away from the scary men trying to hurt them all._

_Wake up! Stop! Make it stop, Mamae!_

_Where was she? Why didn't her mother stop them, run away …? Faster! But it wasn't her mother's fault, wasn't anyone's fault but hers. The bad men found them because of her. Because she stopped too long; but she only wanted to talk to her sister, who lived in the tall tower building near the center of the city with her own Da. But she messed up, and the men came to hurt them. And she wasn’t big enough or strong enough to make them leave, to go away._

_Where was Mamae?_  
_Where was her da?_  
_Gaib? Where did he go?_  
_Cam?_  
_What happened to them?_  
_All her fault!_  
_She should've fought harder!_

_Stop it!_

_It hurts! There’s more wetness on her face, warm trails made by her own tears. Her face hurts, her ears, too. So bad! The man who hurt her was so big, so meanly bad and he made everything hurt. Everything. Her neck, where he held her high up in the air. It all hurt so much!_

_She was all wet. It was dripping down onto her, and it was so heavy. She couldn’t breath, couldn’t … She was drowning in it, in the wet. How was she supposed to breathe when her own mother’s blood was filling her nose? No!_

_Torian!  
Help me!_

* * *

Kastiel thrashed against the bed, jerking awake to face the darkness of her quarters. She tried to move, to leap up and away from the heaviness of the nightmare that screamed through her mind. She had to get away, run away! But something stopped her. A hard, muscled arm yanked her back down onto the cushions of the bed, until she was wrapped up in his arms against his chest. She felt his mouth against her ear suddenly, felt the puff of air he sent against the lobe. She heard him whispering, "Shhh, Kastiel. _Ner_ _cyare_."

Kas blinked blearily towards the little table nearby the bed, panting roughly as she focused on the empty stim she tossed there earlier. She dazedly remembered Mako pressing the stim into her hand and insisting she "get some damn sleep". Kastiel did it, even though she knew there wasn't any medication that worked to block the memories. Not when she was asleep. Falling asleep meant every barrier she put up to keep the memories at bay fell down and away and her mind feverishly niggled over each and every detail of the event.

But she wasn’t mean enough to tell Mako the truth. She just popped the stim against her thigh as she moved slowly towards her quarters. Kas ignored Gault’s argument with Mako, about waiting for the shuttle from Onderon before Kastiel tried to sleep. Mako practically shouted at him, “Stop treating her like brittle glass! Kas won’t fall apart just because he’s gone for a couple of weeks!” Kas was glad when the door closed behind her and she couldn’t hear them anymore.

Now Torian slowly eased his nose up and down against the back of her ear, nuzzling the sensitive curve until she shivered so softly. He hummed to her, "You were calling my name. I heard you, Kas."

"Tor," she sighed. Kastiel pushed against him, flipping herself around until Torian lay back flat on the bed and she straddled him. She cuddled his waist with her thighs and just sat there, staring down at him. He smiled up at her, reached out to wrap his hands snugly onto her hips and bucked his groin into her center, grinding against her slowly, slowly. Kas glanced sideways, saw his armor and weapons propped on the stand she installed next to her own, there in the corner.

Kastiel gasped out, "When'd you get back?" Arousal started thrumming heatedly in her belly, until her sex felt warm and throbbing.

"Couple of hours, now."

Kas leaned down so her elbows pressed into the cushions on either side of his head and she could run her fingers through his hair, their faces so close that their breaths eased against the sensitive skin of each other's face. She murmured, "How was it?"

"Amazing. Met with Corridan and half my unit on Onderon, shuttled over to Dxun. Good hunting. _Bomas_ and _maalraas_ mostly. Brought you some of the meat.” Torian reached up to touch his bare fingers against the implant under her eye, before sliding his touch gently down along the side of her face, “I plan on making you something good to eat. There was a decent spice market in one of the towns on Onderon." Kas closed her eyes and sighed, leaning into his familiar touch, as Torian finally soothed the last vestiges of the nightmare.

"No fireside rug?" Kas tried to tease him. But her tone was still heavy.

Torian smiled, "Would have if I could. _Maalraas_ aren't known for their fur, just their mange. Jagger bagged a _zakkeg_ , though. Lucky _jare_. He wouldn’t stop showing it off the rest of the time we were there." He felt her hands running down along his sides, over his chest and then down both his arms where they still clasped her waist. Like she wanted to touch every bit of him. Her breasts were pressed against his own chest and he slowly flexed his shoulders to mold her harder against him, just playing.

"What's this?" Kastiel sat back upright again, canting her head as she considered the design painted into the skin of his arm. She pulled his wrist around to better see it.

"Jagger is a good artist; he inked my arm. Gave him a rifle, for payment," Torian watched her, the way she regarded the tattoo. He slowly wiggled under her. So he could feel the warmth of her growing wetness right where he wanted it. She twisted her gaze back towards him, still holding his arm up so that she could see the different curves of the design. Her dark eyes gleamed at him with satisfaction. He ran his tongue along his lower lip, wetting it as he told her, "Art on the skin is safer than jewels."

"Can't be ripped off," Kastiel tilted her chin with understanding. Then she smirked, "This means everyone will see you wearing my mark, Tor."

"I _want_ them to see it, though," Torian grunted, the satisfaction deep-set in his voice. Then he exhaled roughly as Kastiel started rocking her hips back and forth on top of him, rolling his hardening length against her sex and thrilling to the growing desire that sparked between them.

"Well,” Kastiel pouted playfully, “That's just not fair. Here you are, all gussied up. And I don't have a mark from you on my own skin."

Torian smiled, gripped her waist solidly as he spun them both around until she was laying under him and he could stretch himself out over the top of her. He slowly rubbed his chest back and forth against the plump mounds of her breasts, until her nipples peaked into hard nubs. He looked down to watch her nipples rub against his own, grunted, "That's why I gave Jagger a really _good_ rifle. You pick where you the mark, and he’ll make it."

Kastiel moaned against his mouth then. Because Torian leaned down to kiss her, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth before pushing past her lips to tangle their tongues together.   
And he slowly, carefully pushed his cock inside of her as deep and hard as he could go.

* * *

"Your brother is beyond exceptional, hunter. I really didn’t believe he’d last this long."

Kastiel clenched her fists as she glared up at the image on the holoterminal. She felt Torian subtly shifting just behind her, unconsciously easing himself closer to her and practically shouting his possessiveness. Gault didn’t even pretend subtlety; he just lifted his middle finger towards X’s hologimage. Kas idly wondered if it was supporting her, or the growing admiration he felt for her brother that sparked Gault’s vivid castigation, actually.

But Kas only snarled towards the human, "I couldn’t give a real shit how much admiration you feel at the moment, X. I only want to know he's fucking okay."

His expression didn't change. The man looked as calm and controlled as he stood there watching her as he ever did. Kastiel knew he was making calculations and judgments galore, of her and everyone in his line of sight. She had actually considered whether to hide her people out of sight for this transmission. But he already knew enough about her. Might as well demonstrate her complete strength.

“You don’t tolerate prevarication so well, hunter. I find that interesting, considering your brother is so skilled at it,” X shrugged like it was some interesting puzzle worth pondering. “But no. He's most assuredly not 'fucking okay'. Although his skills in that regard are equally impressive, too. He demonstrates both quite regularly."

She shrugged without any care. Both her brothers were attractive and engaging. Hells, Khyriel managed to engage X’s attention so thoroughly the man watched him like a hawk ever since. Kas was more amused than bothered by his commentary, "My brother’s sex life isn't on my list of priorities, either. Trust me. Just tell me how bad it is."

X barely moved. But the sheer stiffness of his stance against the holoterminal spoke volumes. Kastiel noted every bare shift of his body, knew that he held himself so still precisely because of real tension and agitation. Kastiel easily judged him. She saw how close to the limits of his patience he really was. But his tone stayed even and simple. And Imperial-sounding, too, "I very nearly lost him. It required that I make direct contact with him, so he saw me, too. Up until now it’s all been so subtle. Whispers mostly. But he was breaking, and hard. And I reached out to him."

Kas breathed in slowly, lowering her gaze as she thought fast. Torian bumped her shoulder softly with his own and she leaned into him for only a moment. She murmured, "Is he hurting?"

"Every single moment, yes. The pain is … There are no real words to describe it, hunter." Then he ran his hand through his now thick dark black hair, sighing. Kastiel actually blinked at him, because that gesture wasn’t familiar to her. Kastiel wondered what horrible memories _he_ woke up screaming from during the night, wondered who helped him get back to sleep again after.

She refused to leave her brother to suffer the same way, or alone.

X gathered himself, standing straight again as his eyes hardened until they looked like black obsidian glass set so deep into his face, "I transmitted the name, and the location. It won't really stop what's already been set in motion, mind you. But do it. And make sure it hurts."

Kastiel nodded, promising.

* * *

Fixer 41. That's what the bastards called her. It was bad enough they took away her real name, reduced her to something as meaningless as a mere number. Like she was a meaningless drone of a woman rather than someone who deserved better. But then they didn’t give her the respect of a designation past a damned Fixer, either. They should’ve recognized her potential; seen that she was so much better than all the fixers and half the watchers, too. Bastards!

She looked around the cramped office quarters where they had shoved her, imagining the bright, pretty surroundings that other members of Imperial Intelligence surely enjoyed. Not like this place, with its dark, dreary walls that barely managed to obscure the sound of the steady rainfall on the streets outside. Oh how she hated Kaas City, where the rich snobs pushed lowly fixers out of the way as they rushed towards the latest entertainment or some party at the Nexxus Club.

She frowned grumpily when the door to her office opened wide and two armored figures stepped inside. The man wore a helmet that covered his head and obscured his face. But the woman's head was bare, and 41 watched as she shook her head hard, so that the droplets of water saturating her black hair went flying in wide arcs around the room.

"Hey! Don't make a bloody mess on the damn floor! You won't be the one who has to clean it, now will you?" Fixer 41 glared at her, making the bright orange paint highlighting her eyes twist across her temples. She was inordinately proud of her make-up, worked hours every morning to ensure it perfectly matched her orange-red hair. She would be damned if this soggy woman ruined it with her head-shaking routine and all the rain water it sent flying all over the place.

There was a shift outside the door of the place, a subtle sense of movement out there from something large and dark. Fixer 41 cocked her head in that direction as she tried to discern what was moving for only a moment. Was someone there? But then the door closed, leaving her alone with what was obviously two Mandalorians. What would induce two low-classed mercenaries to come here, though?

"Who are you? What do you want?" The Fixer glared at the woman, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned onto one slender hip.

Her uniform's starchy surface irritated her sensitive skin all over again, reminding her she was very nearly out of the special creams that kept her skin so soft and clear of blemish – and imported all the way from Alderaan! But the stuff was so expensive! How she would manage to get funds enough to buy more from that black market contact of hers, she wasn't certain. But a few tweaks of the computer console behind her might net her a tidy bit worth selling, too.

But first she had to get rid of the stupid nobody in front of her. "The Mandalorians have their very own fancy Enclave just near the Citadel. Although I'm not sure how comfortable it is. Mandalorians tend to eschew even minor luxuries, do they not? Regardless, chances are that's where you belong. Rather than bothering me with your nonsense."

The Mandalorian woman grunted. Grunted! Like an animal might. "You're called Norra Tirn, right?"

The red-haired Fixer felt her jaw drop as she stared at the woman, "How did you know that? Everyone calls me Fixer 41!"

"Well, that's plain stupid, since _I_ just called you Norra Tirn," the woman chuckled slowly, with dark amusement. Like she knew Norra’s darker thoughts and inclinations. The hunter turned her head sideways towards her companion, said something in a language that Fixer 41 didn't understand. The man huffed an amused sound.

Damn Mandalorians! The woman turned back around to face her again, and the low light of the office flashed across the implants under her eyes. The Fixer’s gaze turned snide and mean as she considered the ugly scars along the side of the woman's face. She sneered at the way the scars reached down across her throat, "You really should do something to hide your face, like your friend there." Fixer 41 waved a single hand in the man's direction, idly regarding the man’s helmeted features.

But the woman didn’t appear to care much for Fixer 41’s opinion, "Yea, you seem to be intent as all heck on keeping yourself pretty and sweet-looking. How much do you spend on all that crap you use? Hell, the damn tool you use to clean your teeth – what was it called again, Torian? – that spiffy little tool cost a bleeding fortune! Smuggled out of Corellia, wasn't it?"

The man lifted his helmeted head, "An ultrasound cleaner, Kas. Cost twelve thousand credits."

Kastiel snapped her fingers, "That's right! An ultrasound cleaner. That fellow who liked selling the things down in the Lower Levels really liked to talk about you."

Fixer 41 blanched. The past tense Kastiel used to describe her black market source certainly didn’t escape her attention. And suddenly she could see someone really was outside, blocking the door now. Her pale face turned blotchy with terrible fear, as she panted, "Who are you?"

"Me? Hells, Norra. You ask that, like anyone’s ever going to care enough that I killed you here today. They won’t, though. I doubt your real name will even be a footnote in some history book somewhere. You'll just be … the fucking traitorous bitch who sold an agent to the SIS for a gods-damned ultrasound cleaner." Kastiel shook her head, smiling darkly, "Oh, and the paste, too. Mustn't forget the paste you use with your cleaner!"

Torian nodded abruptly, "The paste cost three thousand credits."

The Fixer held her hands up, desperately terrified. She could feel her stomach knotting viciously, cramps pulling against her diaphragm as fear for her life twisted through her. She begged, begged, "Wait! Please! You don't understand. I can be an asset. I'm one of the best slicers in the city! Intelligence uses me to train their own agents, even! I can help expose SIS agents here in the city! I can _help_ you!"

Kas shook her head, "Oh, Norra. How is it you think we found you? One SIS agent at a time. I've already made quite a tidy sum giving the information about the ones I found over to Imperial Intelligence. I think they're in love with me by now. Still. It was always you I wanted to locate."

"But why? I don't understand this!" She was shaking so hard the oiled fringes of her hair began tumbling down around her forehead.

"And see? That's the question _I_ was going to ask. Why that particular agent? What was it, sheer chance? A bit of luck, coming across that nugget of valuable information? Or did you go looking for it? Why?" Kas stepped closer, glaring at the fool Fixer with her eyes like cold, dark granite now.

"The Cipher? What are you, another one of his floozies? He certainly spreads himself around, doesn't he?" She sniffed, enjoying the thrill of anger far more than the fear. Anger was better than fear. It helped her focus. And if the Mandalorian woman was mis-used by the Cipher, the way he played with so many females’ affections – then maybe they could find some common ground.

Kastiel stopped suddenly. She was actually surprised, "Are you serious? Tell me you didn't sell him to the SIS for something as damn stupid as him turning a blind eye to your beautified self." Kas snorted with the most profound disgust. Torian grunted from behind her, a _mando'a_ curse spilling from his lips, "She’s greedy for the attention, even more than the credits. Finish it, Kas."

"I'm better than that damn Watcher he was chasing! Prettier, even! But he didn't even look at me, not even once!" Fixer 41 actually stomped her fucking foot, “He did the same to you, didn’t he? You can tell me. I’d understand.” Kastiel stared at her. She just stared. Then she shook herself.

"Enough." Kastiel ignored her as she jumped smoothly up onto the table where the Fixer's slicing tools were gathered together, raising her fist towards the ceiling so she could loose a maghook that adhered to the surface, there. The Fixer gaped at the cable now extending down towards the floor of the place, watched with an incredible level of obtuseness as Kas worked fast to create a neat loop in the cable.

"What the hell are you doing," the Fixer demanded.

Kastiel grinned back at her, "Need to make sure there's space enough for your head through this thing, huh? Wouldn't want your neck to break, anyway. That would be too easy, too quick."

"What?" The ninny became even more pale, if that was possible. She suddenly tried to run, turning around as if to rush through the door. But Torian caught her, held her firm against his armored chest. He shook the woman, snarling at her, "Die with some pride. If you can!"

"This is crazy! You can't do this! He's just one agent! Did he hire you? Is that why you’re here? He’s not that important – I can help you …” She twisted and pulled against the hard fingers that held her in place. She tried to kick Torian, just as hard as possible. But she yelped in pain instead, as her toe broke with a crack against Torian's armored shin.

Kastiel crooked a finger, gesturing for Torian to bring the woman close enough. He dragged the Fixer simply and roughly across the room, ignoring every one of her panicked yips as they went. Kas reached down, grabbed the woman's short hair and yanked, twisting her head backwards. The woman shrieked, desperate and shrill as the cable dropped down around her neck. Kastiel leaned back, looking up to judge the strength of the maghook briefly.

Fixer 41 screamed aloud, "He's no one! Stop this!"

Kastiel hunkered down onto a slim knee, right there on top of the table. Until she was face to face with the Fixer. She ran her dark brown eyes lazily across the woman's features, while her fingers drifted down to tap against the button controlling the maghook.

Kas listened to the woman's whimpers, her head canted softly to the side. Then she leaned closer, looming into Fixer 41's gaze, "I might have cared. Doubtful, mind you. But it’s possible. Except it was _that_ agent. You messed with _my_ brother. _Mine_! You hurt him for nothing! So fuck you."

Kastiel saw the realization light in the woman's eyes. She watched it dawn on her this wasn't a paid contract; it wasn't Intelligence sending a Mando to clean up one of their messes or mishaps. She watched the Fixer finally understand, and she smiled with deep satisfaction. The click of the button was sudden and loud in the air then.

Fixer 41 started to scream but the sound was abruptly cut off as she was yanked off her feet to dangle at the predetermined height Kastiel had carefully gauged as she was preparing the device. Torian snorted softly, stepping around the Fixer's kicking legs to stand next to the table where Kastiel was still kneeling.

They watched the process coolly, watched as the woman tried desperately to pull at the cable held tight around her neck, scratching so hard she made bloody gouges into the skin there. Her body twisted around, gyrating sickly in the air as she kicked futilely. Great gasping wheezes filled the space. Until she finally gave up the fight and went still, giving out one single last strangled gasp before it was finally finished. All that was left was the body, swinging gently back and forth while the stench of urine filled the room.

Torian nodded firmly, "A traitor's death."

"Yea. And far less messy than it could've been. She didn't even fight worth a damn." Kastiel nodded towards the door, "Bring Gramum. The Wookiee will know the best way to get rid of this trash so that Intelligence doesn't pick up on what she was doing in time enough." Torian inclined his chin, ghosting a touch across her knuckles before he moved towards the door. Kastiel stayed silent, watching the body swinging as she thought.

They just needed time. And she mentally crossed her fingers this little game didn’t waste what advantage they had. Not in the meantime, at least.


	72. A Language for a Language

"What sort of hunt is it?" Corso looked at Mako, curious. Kastiel just kept him purely befuddled. She wasn't anything like the sweet, simple women he was accustomed to, who would run for the nearest shelter at the first sign of trouble. She wasn't even much like Mako, who would surely fight tooth and nail to defend someone from trouble, rather. But Kas? Kastiel _was_ the trouble most women ran from, he thought.

"A tough one. Apparently gone so long without success, the client assumed no one was even looking for the bastard anymore. Kas will take down that pirate, though, no worries," Mako hummed happily as she leaned sideways to look past her small holoterminal at the crews loading crates onto a nearby vessel. A Sith transport, it looked like.

Then she blinked as she caught sight of the slight blue-skinned Twi'lek arguing with some of the spacedock workers. The small female was gesticulating wildly with those slender blue hands of hers. Mako growled abruptly, "Shit and damn it. What're they doing here?"

"What? Mako, what's the matter?" Corso actually reached out to tap against the holoterminal screen, as if he could prod Mako herself for attention. She chuckled sourly as she regarded his image.

"Kas' Sithy sister is here on-planet, too."

Corso laughed lightly, "Sithy feet." Mako frowned at him, confused. "That's what the Captain said to the last Sith we ran into. Said he hoped she'd blistered her Sithy feet. We were on Tattoine at the time."

"Well, not like anyone on this planet will be blistering their feet. Frostbite, maybe. This place is as frigid as a rich man’s heart." Mako shook her head, thinking, "Seriously. Some Imperial flunky gave Kas a special set of cold-weather gear. That, and advice on some beasty creature called a Wampa. Said they’d eat us alive if they could."

Corso was startled, "Wait a minute, Mako. Are you telling me Kas - and her Sith sister, apparently - are both on _Hoth_ right now?"

"And her little Imperial brother, too. Gault went off to do some scouting; he’s keeping an eye on Khyriel."

Corso leaned back, looking skyward as he contemplated the compelling sense of disaster he was feeling all of a sudden. He muttered, "Mako, Gaib and I will be planetside in just under two hours. We're going to nab a shipment … on Hoth."

Mako gaped at him, "That means … Wait. They're _all_ going to be on Hoth at the same time?"

* * *

Kastiel considered the red-eyed visage of the Chiss curiously enough. He was called Khel, apparently. And he stared back at her with what she thought might be a slightly bewildered expression on his face; except she couldn’t truly judge his emotions past his scarlet-flamed eyes.

Khel was the first Chiss she ever met. She had seen some of his people, moving towards the Citadel mostly. But they were proud of their own Ascendency, than obedient to the Sith. And strong enough the Sith largely tolerated them. In Kaas City, the Chiss were considered merely _unusual_.

Kas was halfway tempted to reach out and poke Khel’s blue-skinned face. If only to discover if he was really so cold as he looked. Considering the expanse of snow and ice all around them, his deeply blue skin looked more frozen than anything. But the red of his eyes blazed at her, too. Like he was lit up inside with pure fire. The discordant features sparked her wondering.

Torian seemed more familiar with the Chiss, than she was. He told her of Chiss who joined the Clans during various Hunts and the stories they shared with the Mandalorians. So Torian shrugged when he told her the Chiss came from a world even more harsh and cold than Hoth, " _They call it Csilla. Entire place covered in thick glaciers. The people live under the ground, use machines that produce heat_." Hoth must be comfortable for them, Kas supposed, watching as Khel stabbed the air with one pointed blue finger, strident.

"You better have a real good reason for stepping inside our station, woman," Khel barked at her. Kastiel's head canted to the side as she considered the man's tone. She could only barely detect an unfamiliar accent in the Chiss' speech, enough she leaned closer to hear him better. Khel leaned backwards to avoid her, frowning angrily, "Well?"

Oh, his speech was smooth and regular. The Basic he was using flowed seamlessly, even easily – like he'd been speaking the language the entirety of his life. Ask most anyone and he would've been pegged as a native of some minor world in the Empire itself, his use of the language was so simple and easy. But Kas still heard the most subtle undertones of his native tongue, even through the practiced cadence of his Basic. She was fascinated.

Kastiel shrugged lightly, like she barely cared and never mind the guards standing behind Khel. They both glared at her balefully, like menacing hounds only a breath away from snarling. She wondered if they would manage to hide their native accents so well as the warden himself, but they remained utterly quiet and stiff.

Probably not, she decided. Kas handed Khel the datapad showing the codes the Chiss Aristocra called Hadro provided her, "Came here to question a prisoner of yours. Some sort of pirate, right?"

"None of your damn business!" Khel turned his crimson gaze down to the datapad, glaring. She murmured quietly, trying to match the man's tone, playing with the vocal emulations he was making. Just to see if she could mimic the cadence of his accent, practicing.

It startled Khel. He jerked hard eyes back up at her, even raised a hand as if to grab at her. But Torian growled a low, threatening sound and stepped close enough to loom over Kastiel's shoulder. He lifted his chin warningly. Clear enough a message, Khel surmised. Touch the female, and pay the price for it.

Khel narrowed his eyes at Torian. Then he turned back to Kastiel, "I'll verify this is authentic. You? Stand right here and don't move." Kas smirked agreeably when Khel spun on his heel and marched back through the nearby icy-looking doorway, her datapad still clutched in his hand.

Torian muffled a laugh from behind her, "Not so cold as they look, huh?"

"Yea. Rather hot-blooded, aren't they? Not that I was even wondering." Kas blatantly lied. She stumbled only slightly when Torian playfully butted his shoulder against her back, and chuckled. "You think I can convince one of them to teach me their language. What's it called?"

" _Cheunh_ , I think. At least I think you want that language, and not the one they use when they're talking to foreigners. _Minnisiat_ is the language used in Chiss space when they're trading. And it’s common enough." Torian's gaze roamed the entranceway critically, noted the way the guards' attention perked only when he used the familiar terms that described their language. He grunted softly, "These ones don't understand any _Mando'a_ , though. Good, huh? Considering the Chiss I’ve met hunting, I thought they might have picked up some of the words here and there. But these Chiss are pure military, I guess. Not hunters."

Kastiel shrugged, smiling, "Less competition on Hoth is a good thing. But military men might not be willing to teach me this _Cheunh_ tongue, either. Damn it."

He grunted softly, "You'd pick it up fast, though. You already speak _Mando'a_ like a Mando born and raised. Beautiful listening to the words in your voice." Kastiel blushed, he knew. So easy to tempt her, Torian thought. Here on Hoth, making her skin warm was even more satisfying. Torian huffed happily. Kas bumped her shoulder backwards into Torian’s chest suddenly, knocking him just enough off-balance he clucked his tongue in pretended affront.

Then both of them glanced up when Khel returned, stepping carefully into the entranceway with his bright red eyes downcast. He murmured respectfully, "Please. Follow me. I'll show you to the prisoner now. And I apologize for my earlier … reticence."

Kas stared at him for a moment, actually confused that he seemed truly sincere in his apology. When Imperials were caught in the middle of a faux pas they tended to offer unctuous phrases so oily it became obviously untrue. But Khel was no Imperial. Kas cocked her head to the side as she considered him, "You Chiss are … unique. I thought you fought for an Empire, of sorts."

Khel frowned, "The Ascendency is supreme."

"Oh. Well, _that_ attitude's more familiar, at least," Kastiel grunted as she followed him into the inner rooms of the Chiss jail, with its holding cells lining several walls.

Khel shook himself as he eyed the strange female. She was completely covered in hard Mandalorian iron, until even her face was obscured. Such a bluntly fierce creature, brash and in-your-face with her motions. Far unlike anything in his own Chiss experience, where most people utilize more subtle machinations. More stealth and subterfuge.

The sound of yelps and shouts drifted out to them suddenly, and Khel harrumphed with displeasure as he moved faster. Until he was practically trotting towards the door leading into the room where the most secure cells in his facility were located.

Khel stopped in the doorway then, staring dumbfounded into the room. Kastiel stepped closer, standing next to him as they both took in the spectacle of a short, squat little Jawa – a Jawa, of all things! – running circus-like rings around a group of trained Chiss soldiers. Kastiel inhaled a breath to keep from laughing.

The guards were all armed with energy prods. They were waving the sticks around with angry, desperate motions, all of them trying to catch against the small frame of the little Jawa. But the Jawa sailed out of their reach every single time. Sailed! He flew around the room so fast and quick that the edges of his brown robe barely moved to expose his little legs covered in black leathered trousers and tiny black boots.

And he did try chittering at them as he moved. His tinny voice rang out above the incredible din, "Tried to help! Fixed your bright sticks! Charges better, stronger now! So don't hit _me_ with them, no! It will hurt _more_! Stop! Ohhhh … poor blue man." One Chiss man actually ran into the prodding edge his fellow’s energy device in the wild melee of moving guards and Jawa. He cried out in horrible pain, his body suspended stiffly in the air as spasms rippled through his figure. His dark blue-looking hair actually stood on end as he urinated helplessly, in agony. The entire group stood frozen.

The Jawa pointed, jabbering, "See? Works better!" It was obvious none of the Chiss understood what the little robed figure was saying. But his tone implied a degree of satisfaction the guards utterly misinterpreted.

One of the guards pierced the slight creature with an angry glare, and he snarled, "I'm going to kill it."

But Kastiel leaned closer to the warden, murmuring with amusement, "So tell me. Are there more Jawas acting as pirates in the White Maw? Or is this one unique?"

Khel's eyebrows shot high against his forehead, "A Jawa? Is that what it's called?"

Torian grinned behind his faceplate. He leaned closer into Kastiel's back so he could grumble against her ear, joking, "If the pirates are all so dangerous as a Jawa that can take down a squad of Chiss, we may have issues." Kas couldn't help it then. She laughed loudly, dragging the attention of the battling group inside of the room. The guards gaped over at them. But the Jawa chirped happily enough and started rushing towards them.

Khel glared at the Chiss guards, hissing, "You were incapable of securing the little monster?" The guards began arguing, insisting the Jawa was physically or mentally enhanced somehow. Maybe it’s Force-sensitive, they called out. Khel grumbled derisively, utterly disgusted. His temper wasn’t soothed when he noted both the Mandalorians seemed more than capable of understanding the sounds the small … _thing_ kept using whenever it communicated.

Kastiel leaned down onto a knee as the Jawa gestured towards her, chattering at her in pure Jawaese. The clicks and chirps of the language were familiar enough after the weeks she spent on Tatooine, where practically every vendor was a Jawa. The creatures were natural scavengers, easily eeking out survival on the harshest worlds.

Now she waved a hand towards the Jawa, clicking her tongue when he snatched one of her blasters smoothly from her hip. He was so fast! Kastiel frowned, shaking her head in bewilderment as the Jawa handled the weapon, bending it to and fro as he chattered up at her: "Good blaster! You keep it working, good oils. Big, though. How can you hold it in your hand without it hurting?"

Kas smirked, shrugging, "Give it back, and I'll show you."

"You understand me! That's good! The blue men were getting angry with Blizz, because none of them knew how to talk. Scary when big people get angry." Blizz shuddered lightly, as if remembering something painful.

Kastiel scowled. The Jawa was pretty buff-looking for his species; since most of the Jawas she had seen were lean and skinny-looking little things. This Blizz seemed larger than the average Jawa, at least – bulkier across the chest and shoulders. But she still looked down on him even as she knelt there. Standing as tall as he could, Blizz just barely reached as high as her thigh. It offended her, to think someone would abuse such a small individual. For _being_ small, no less.

She smiled when Blizz leaned his head back far enough he could see her from under the hood his little face was hidden inside of, so that she caught sight of the bright, polished orange gemstones he used to protect his sensitive eyes from too much light. The things were likely as useful on Hoth as they were Tattooine, even. The brilliant wash of white expanse was hurtful to a human’s eyes, let alone a Jawa’s.

Blizz kept right on chittering madly, with one sentence running wildly into the next until it seemed little more than a crazed ride of curiosity spilling from the little thing. He sang out, "You a fighter! Seen fighters like you before, all covered up in hard metal. I like the metal you use, even light sticks can't break it. Good metal, expensive. You paint it? Why did you pick those colors? Ohh! You have firebox on your back! Does it make you go high up? How high can you go? Show!"

"I'll kill it, warden! Right now!" One of the guards stomped towards the Jawa with deliberate intention, his fist angrily clutching his energy prod. Kas stood up suddenly, thrusting the startled Jawa behind her legs. Blizz yelped; he huddled behind Kastiel until he caught sight of the hard-toed boots of the hunter’s companion. Blizz snatched out to grip Torian’s hand, twisting his arm back and forth as he studied the contraption the Mandalorian used to spit streams of fire at his opponents. The Jawa chattered happily enough as he studied Torian's entire armor.

"Back off. Blizz, here, has information I can use to find my target. Last thing I need is a bunch of humiliated Chiss trying to fry him to death, okay?" Kastiel crossed her arms across her chest as she confronted the Chiss. Khel sighed, then.

"We haven't understood a word the thing's said since it was brought here. But it keeps breaking loose from its confines and taking apart everything it gets its little paws on. It's driving me and my people to distraction!" Khel leaned to the side, trying to better observe the Jawa that was still playing with the Mandalorian man's armor. The Mando didn't seem overly concerned, either. He just pointed to various pieces, trying to show the creature whatever seemed to spark its curiosity and grunting periodically as the beast continued chattering. Khel grumbled sourly, "And it stinks!"

Kastiel shrugged, "It's a Jawa. They abhor bathing; say it washes off the natural oils their bodies produce to keep them from losing moisture on their homeworld. They also douse their robes with the stuff."

"Why would they need to do such a thing?"

Kas cocked one dark eyebrow at him, "You've never heard of Tatooine?"

Khel looked at the Jawa again, frowning, "It comes from a desert world? How the hell did it end up here?"

She leaned back, snapping her fingers with dramatic flair. "Excellent question! I could perhaps figure that out. If only you guys wouldn't try to kill him, hmm?"

Khel grunted, waving aside the still-irate guard who kept raising his energy prod menacingly. He explained, "We didn't understand it when it spoke."

"Jawaese isn't so difficult to learn, actually." She rocked on her heels, looking thoughtful all of a sudden, "I could provide you holotranslations of the language. In exchange."

Khel narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious, "Yes. I was told Mandalorians focus on prices for the services they provide. What is it you want?"

Torian smiled sideways as he watched Kastiel get from the Chiss exactly what she'd wanted from the moment Khel opened his dark-blue mouth. "I want to learn how to speak _Cheunh_ , of course. A language for a language."

* * *

Blizz felt like he'd found a paradise to explore there in the two fighters. He sniffed at them slowly, increasingly happy as he soaked in the scent of the emotions that emulated from their bodies. No anger, no frustration. These two were comfortable with each other, and engaging. They joked, laughed. Both of them felt close and protective of the other. He liked them.

Especially when the female stood between him and the angry blue man. She was fierce, a strong fighter. Her skin sizzled with the fervor of it, that she wouldn't be cowed or undone. Not even by the most ferocious threat. Her male watched her carefully, protective even as he occupied Blizz himself with all the most shiny parts of his armor. Blizz leaned closer to him, trying to capture the man's most unique scent, so elusive in the big people who visited his home planet and, now, on this world, too, with its expanses of white, cold sand.

There! Blizz sighed as he took in the man's identifying odor, so that he'd be able to find him even in the midst of a crowd, or some dark, scary place maybe. His scent was a good one, like wood and other strong, living things, like he spent a lot of time moving through wild, untamed places. And it was all over the female, like a glaring marker; it was a sign of possession, that he'd taken her, mated her. Her scent – of gun oils and metal, like she belonged to wet worlds and cold, hard places – it was on him in turn, strong enough he knew they'd mated only hours earlier.

Blizz found them both fascinating. He wanted to explore them, learn who they were and what they were all about. He wondered dazedly if he could take apart their metal armor, figure out how it worked. He could make it work better, he knew it! He almost asked, until he realized the female was arguing heatedly with the blue man leader. She ultimately turned to face Blizz, hunkered down again. He liked that, too, liked that she wasn't afraid to face him on equal terms.

"You're called Blizz, huh?" She nodded towards her male, "Torian and me are looking for Reneget Vause. You know him?"

"Boss man, yea! He was mad after Jreely Toomb said there were things under my bunk. Took me out into the white sand, told the other big men to hurt me. I ran, but the blue men found me and brought me here." Blizz spoke the way he always did, rapidly. Like he was firing off bolts of sound from his mouth and the words seemed to zing through the air. But he could see her frowning down at him, nonetheless. As if she could tell how much it hurt him to be that misused, that mislead – by men he had considered friends, and trusted.

She stood up, crossed her arms across her chest. Blizz admired the way the light flashed against the metallic edges of her armor as she looked down at him. She spoke firmly, "You want Vause to pay for that? I can punish him for you."

She was offering him a promise. The sound of it quivered in the air. Blizz considered her carefully, remembering the fear and terror of the men's sudden attack against him in the strange, cold world outside. He thought of what it would be like, for them to be that afraid, to face someone as strong and capable as this fighter and her mate. He thought of it, and he liked the thought they would finally understand how terrible it was, what they'd done.

"I know where Boss is! I'll tell you!"


	73. Chasing a Lizard through the Snow

"Scorekeeper. I know my _Jagannath_ is great, that You see me and feel great pride. Grant me today a hunt worthy of my name in Your eyes."

The wind hurried across the landscape, making the snow swirl up into mad, winging flurries against the cold blue sky. He lifted his arms against the same sky, like he was waving to the wind, the snow. He left his face exposed, as it was supposed to be when paying homage to the Scorekeeper. Although Vause kept his face exposed most often, simply to prove to everyone who looked on him he was stronger, tougher than even the average _T'Doshak_.

He lowered his head, thinking and listening to the first milling sounds of the men behind him. He grinned with a savage sort of smile as they began pushing and shoving each other awake, whispering among themselves and asking, "Does he ever sleep? Have you ever seen him sleep?" It was good for them to fear him, to wonder over his strength and prowess. Let them ponder it at length, he thought.

Qyzen had sent word, said he was following the Scorekeeper's Herald now. He asked him to take care, said there was a low-born _T'Doshak_ cheating for a place in their people's esteem. Vause snorted softly, disgusted. Not that he doubted Qyzen's word over such tactics. But that Qyzen tried claiming a Herald was leading him. More likely Qyzen was seeking some sort of redemption, so he claimed such a miracle.

Regardless. Vause raised his face, looking up as the wind ripped a new line of cruel air across his yellow-scaled features. He was Reneget Vause, with so much _Jagannath_ that the White Maw preened over him, called him by names which made small children weep in the dark. They called him the Serpent of the Void … the Sarlacc in Scales … the Hunter of Worlds.

He was _T'Doshak._

He would bleed his targets dry.

* * *

Torian tugged against the tubing that ran over Kastiel's shoulder, studying it critically for any single tear or loose connection leading into the back of her chestplate. She stood still as he scrutinized the thing, humming lightly as he yanked and pulled against the various connections. He was methodical, precise in every one of his motions and absolutely determined to ensure not a single leak released the warmth pulsing softly against Kas' skin.

In this environment, every bit of protection was vital, she knew, and she tolerated Torian's examination with the same calm acceptance he had given her own, earlier. She smiled when he finished the inspection with a small pat on her rear, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Torian shrugged at her, pretending innocence. Kastiel smiled at him, "Is that a promise, Torian?"

"Always."

"I'll hold you to it."

He grunted softly, "Something to look forward to, then."

She laughed as they approached the doors leading out into the wide expanse of Hoth terrain. The glare off the snow was painfully bright, and Kas narrowed her eyes reflexively. She searched the entrance to the garrison carefully, trying to acclimate herself to the new world. Until she noted a flash of red from the corner of her eye.

Lusiel.

Her sister was bundled carefully against the cruel climate. Almost as much as Kastiel and Torian both. But her dark hair extended down in a thick braid from underneath the scarlet red head covering she was wearing and her eyes were more exposed. And maybe Kastiel would have still disregarded her as yet another Sith moving among the Imperials here on Hoth all covered up the way she was, except for the two men she was addressing as she stood there.

One of them was large and burly, with red hair cropped ultra-short into neat rows on top of his head. Pierce, she remembered. From Taris. Who fought her for control of a dead Rakghoul, and Kas chuckled as she recalled every bit of that particular interaction. Pierce was rough and easy to control, a regular soldier who didn’t think much at all past soldiering.

The other man was slighter and leaner, although obviously fit enough. He was covering his own dark hair as Lusiel busily directed Pierce. Kastiel remembered Captain Quinn, too. But she liked him far better than she did the lieutenant. Mostly because he never strayed over-far from her sister _and_ because he made Lusiel laugh. Anyone who could make a Sith laugh deserved real praise. But this one was her own sister, too.

Torian was confused; he butted against her shoulder softly, asking silently what caught her attention so thoroughly. Kas inclined her chin in Lusiel's direction, " _Ner_ _vod_." Torian grunted as he examined the small frame of Kastiel's sister, the way she moved and sensed. And he huffed, "Not like you. She’s too stiff. Proper … She belongs to the Empire."

"Sith are strange in a lot of ways."

Torian grunted again.

Kastiel heard the chirp of her commlink as they both stood there watching Lusiel directing her people as they prepared to move away from the garrison. Then Mako's image there on the link blinked into view, "Kas! Your sister's on Hoth!" Kastiel snorted, watching as Quinn finished lecturing the lieutenant and handed him a datapad.

"You don't say."

* * *

Kastiel decided it was the wind that did it, really. It rushed over the landscape -- wooshing and sending the snow swirling up to blind a person even before the cold actually smacked them into cool shock. It certainly made the men down below shiver and shake as it caught against their forms. Kas smiled behind her faceplate as she watched a pudgy Gamorrean character actually lose his footing from the force of the rushing wind. He lay on his back in the middle of the snow, kicking and squealing loudly. His wild motions made some fascinating shapes in the snow, too.

Kastiel watched the Trandoshan move swiftly across the expanse to kick the oafish fellow square in the ass, so that he squealed even louder as he jerkily clambered back to his thick, bulging feet again. He ran back towards the other pirates, with Vause telling towards his backside and ignoring the pirates’ laughing, "Lose your balance and you lose your life! No time to waste on you! Get out of here!"

Reneget Vause was pale for his species. His scaly skin looked almost yellow as he stalked back and forth across the snow. She chuckled low, "He'd better not take a piss on the snow. He'd match!" Torian choked back a laugh. He leaned down over her back, curling against her and shielding her from the wind as they knelt down to watch the strange training motions the pirates were making in the snow-filled chasm below.

"Don't give him ideas, Kas. It’s harder to find him if he blends in."

Kastiel snorted softly just as Vause stalked over to the Icetromper the pirates had secured in place there in the entrance to the cavernous chasm. Actually there were so many crevices and crags on the planet that Kas and Torian had taken to surveying each step even before moving forward, just to avoid tumbling into a horrid drop no armor would work to save them from. But Vause moved without regard for any chance of danger. Maybe he understood the ground so well.

Or he was just arrogant, she thought. Like the ground was supposed to respond to his own will or he couldn’t make a misstep. There was weakness that came from any false belief you couldn't be overcome, when confidence only turned to deadly recklessness. Vause could stumble as easily as that Gamorean, given the chance.

Kastiel bent her head sideways, watching Vause swipe against the Icetromper's thick, bulbous legs. The animal trumpeted, bellowing aloud to the sky in horrible pain as it tumbled and fell face forward onto the icy ground. Thick streams of bright, red blood billowed against the snow and ice as Vause waved the men forward. He shouted at them in that strange, hissing voice common to Trandoshans, "Maybe you can actually manage to finish it off?"

Kastiel shook her head as the pirates stumbled over themselves, rushing forward to hack and slash at the dying Icetromper, "Clumsy shits. These are the fools the Chiss are chasing their tails to defeat? Seriously?"

"Well. You've shown that even a monkey-lizard can take out a decent fighter."

Kastiel watched the pirates making a clean kill into a sodden butchery, bewildered, "No. My monkey-lizard is brighter and more capable than these asses."

Torian smiled grimly, "Or the monkey-lizard is exceptional. Either way, we've gotten good practice before facing Hoth's pirates, hmm?"

"I'll have to reward Quinnie for being such a good training tool. We could give him whatever’s left of the Tromper thing, maybe. Won’t be much." Kastiel raised herself up, moving forward with steady purpose as Torian fell into place behind her.

Both of them eased forward until Vause finally discerned their approach. The reptile-man spun around, hissing at them as they stepped close enough to him they could've spit him on a damn stick. He glared at them in that strange way Trandoshans showed anger and upset, so that his scaly skin took on an even more sallow look, gleaming like sick mustard against the white backdrop of snow.

"Mandalorians!" Reneget Vause was lizard enough, Kastiel thought, that he wasn't able to truly lob a glob of spittle when he cursed towards them. But his feelings were obvious. She smiled at her target, leaning close.

"At least you're a tad brighter than your … friends, there." Kas waved a hand dismissively towards the other pirates. They were milling around behind Vause, all of them splattered liberally with Icetromper blood and guts. "Hey, they managed to actually hit it. You should be proud."

Vause hissed at them, although that was quite probably his natural voice. He seemed more bored at the interruption than anything else. "You must be seeking one of the bounties on my head. Mandalorians play at hunting. But you hide your soft flesh behind tough armor; you hide your faces. You're afraid to face your enemies with heads held high." Vause glanced behind him, taking in the gore-covered pirates shivering in the cold air. Another gust of wind caused the Gamorean to tumble backwards onto his ass again, and Vause made an impatient sound, "But you have some use today, however."

Kastiel murmured towards him, "No more Icetrompers for your fools to hack at, huh?"

Vause bared his teeth. The Trandoshan semblance of a smile, she supposed. "You at least save me the trouble of dragging another one, here. But I won’t fight unworthy targets."

Kas shrugged, "I don't blame you for giving up on teaching these guys anything worthwhile. Although I wouldn't make a habit of it, either. Eventually, even pirates will avoid your teaching methods if it's tossing them to the wolves that becomes your primary method of instruction."

Vause stared at her silently, sliding his gaze across the faceplate that covered her bare features from his sight. For only a moment he felt a niggling doubt, that this particular Mandalorian wasn't the tease of challenge he'd first assumed. Only perhaps the Scorekeeper deigned to send him a fight worthy of his _Jagannath_. Then he shifted his hard-eyed gaze to the male standing behind the woman; the way he hovered there behind her and determinedly strong.

Mandalorians. They were always afraid of facing enemies with their heads up and their faces and throats exposed. As if their lives and parts were too precious to give up. They relied on armors to hide behind and friends to take their blows. He snorted to himself.

This woman was no threat. Not to him. And only maybe to the pirates he left behind as he went. Kastiel watched him go, sighing. She turned when one of the pirates called out, "More fun than the 'Tromper, boys! Let's have at 'er!" Kastiel grinned, shooting Torian a quick glance just long enough to see him rolling his shoulders as he prepared to launch himself at the suddenly angry crowd of pirates.

"Think we can blow some more wind their way?"

Torian grunted, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kastiel as the men rushed at them. Both Mandalorians activated their jetpacks just as the pirates came within striking distance, shooting up into the frigid air. The blast from their flight upwards beat against the men in a single, heady burst of hot air so that the crowd fell back. The pirates lost their balance; until they were left to flailing and railing against the ground, sliding across the bloody, icy snow in frantic bundles of human and alien arms and legs.

Kastiel landed easily against the surface, though. Torian was already moving, too; he jumped up from a crouched position where he landed, swinging his staff in an arch of terrible momentum against the skulls of one, then two of the pirates. He cried out a victorious cry as the men's brains and blood joined the gore already staining the snow-covered ground scarlet. Kastiel's blaster bolts sang against the cool air, the cacophony of firepower rising against the wind-strewn air, and Torian shouted out yet again, "Oya!" He yelled as he leaped towards another one of the pirates, his electrostaff firing brightly against the snow.

They moved together, almost like they were dancing. Like water that flowed simply and smoothly back and forth over the blood-torn ice and snow. Until nothing moved, nothing more cried out. Just their own wild, harsh gasps of breath as they looked to each other. Kastiel smiled as Torian sidled closer to her, "Well, Vause was right about their lack of balance, at least." He glanced around at the now-pink ground they were standing on, idly reaching out to push one dead pirate over until he lay on his back and his blank human eyes stared up into the endlessly blue sky overhead.

There was a snuffle suddenly, a low, frightened sound they could barely hear. Kastiel kicked out a solid boot against the blood-smeared side of the dead Icetromper, listened as the Gamorrean pirate from earlier squealed madly and he tumbled out from inside the gory remains of the hulking corpse where he was hiding.

Kas grimaced as she took in the squat man's gore-saturated frame, "Gods, you stink even worse than it did when it was still alive." She sneered down at the filthy Gamorrean, "Lowly Tusker, huh? What happened, did your morts all die from the cold?"

The young Gamorrean rolled around in the pinkish snow, smearing even more blood against the ground. He started to beg her, "Please! Please don't kill me! I'll go, leave Hoth, leave the system! Never ever ever come back! Swear, swear!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes, impatient with the mess of a character at her feet. Torian only grumbled, kicking out against his flailing figure, "Move! Get away!" They watched the fat figure taking off like a scampering rodent of some sort, hunched over as if to evade their notice and still splattered with blood. Kas leaned against one curved hip as she watched him go.

"He's running straight into … well, what the hell's out there, do you think?"

Torian grunted, "Giant ice cats. Maybe Wampas. Good hunting, though. If we follow that pig, we might lure something out."

Kastiel considered, "Tempting. But lizard first, though."

"Too bad."

* * *

Khyriel glared at Kaliyo, unable to even pretend at a nicety right then. Perhaps he might be able to pull it off, if only his head didn't feel like there was a solid axe buried right smack dab in its center. He muttered, "So I'm supposed to be concerned, that the Devaronian you fucked while I was crawling through shit on Quesh has followed you here to Hoth?"

"Come on, Nine! He was back on Taris, too! Crap, how else was I supposed to get close enough to him to figure out what the Hell he's up to?"

Khyriel snarled at her, "Yes, I'm positive you fucked him out of the goodness of your little heart. Oh, and fondness for me, as well. Can't forget that, now can we?"

Kaliyo gaped at him, "What the ever living hell is wrong with you? Wait! I don't really give a shit! I hope the damn horned freak sticks more than his tongue up your ass. I'm out of here."

He watched her spin around on her stiff booted feet and literally march away. It was a vivid moment. If only because she was so utterly pissed she forgot even, to pretend she wasn't effected by the confrontation. Definitely new, that. Normally, she was quick to sway her hips or shrug her shoulders like she didn't care in the least what it was he said or did.

Not that there was much normal about the entire incident. Normally he didn’t care that much about her absurd feelings one way or another, and her temperamental playacting amused him only.

Khyriel turned away, groaning as new pain ripped through his head. He clenched his eyes shut, watching the colors swirling behind the closed lids of his eyes. " _She doesn't care, she never did. Too much concerned over her own self and keeping from being hurt_."

Khyriel groaned again as the familiar voice drifted through his consciousness. He really was going mad; he could feel it, he could feel his sanity slipping away. Like it was sand sliding out of a glass, one single grain at a time. He whispered, "No one cared when my mother went crazy, either. I’m just lost in this frozen wasteland, and no one will even stop what they’re doing to keep it from happening." A brief image of the little human with her dark skin and worried eyes, standing next to the Chiss lordling drifted through his wild imaginings. More craziness, he snorted.

" _You're wrong, agent. If there was no one who cared, you'd already be lost_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dosh is the language spoken by the Trandoshan people, from the planet of Dosha (also known as Trandosha) in the Kashyyk system. There are few bits and pieces of words and phrases to rely upon in Star Wars lore. But "T'doshak" is the word that Trandoshans use to refer to themselves. Jagannath is the word that references the score tracked by the Trandoshan goddess that watches over their hunts.


	74. It's Almost Time

It was like walking into a wall, Torian thought. He calmly stepped back from the belligerent man who stood there in front of him, glaring. Torian thought the Imperial was only that smart, too – just a boxy wall that lacked imagination past the most simple. But Torian only remembered him as the _utreekov_ that loomed over Kastiel, ages ago on Taris. Who only used his sheer size and bulk like it would work to intimidate every opponent into quitting. Like it was the best he could offer, was his terrible size.

Perhaps that's how he normally defeated his enemies, though. With pure brute force. No real skill or technique worth boasting of, anyway. Just stupid head-bashing simplicity. Torian very nearly smiled at the thought. But he only stepped back from the soldier's bullish aggression, pointedly and dramatically ignoring him. There simply was no honor in matching the man's pigheadedness, he thought.

Pierce's eyes widened, "What the Hell. Does your backside match your yellow hair, then?"

Torian shrugged lightly, glancing briefly towards the door of the cantina where Kastiel would be emerging soon enough, "Only as much as your temperament matches your red face, Imperial. Here for a drink and a seat, not conversation."

Pierce clenched his fists tightly and glared at Torian, "You didn't address her with the respect due a Sith."

Torian turned his golden-eyed gaze towards the youngish woman standing just behind the hulking frame of the soldier. That one’s eyes were gleaming hotly, until they were almost yellow slits there in her face and filled with intense hunger at the sense of impending violence.

Torian’s nostrils flared only lightly at the signs of imminent threat, as he considered her desire to see the two men fight. Strong enough an impulse she would toss her soldier friend into the fray without thought or appreciation for the consequence. What a waste. Torian shook his head towards her, "My lord, yes? That is how I should have called you. Apologize if I misspoke."

She frowned at him, disconcerted at the ease the Mandalorian showed them both. He didn’t seem bothered, not even concerned. And Jaesa realized with a start that he wasn’t. The Mandalorian stood there completely unruffled, because he simply wasn’t afraid. The truth of him smoothed against her senses, the cool calm of his composure unsettled. Because he was confidently certain he would emerge from any real confrontation with them – the winner. He knew, _knew_ he could ruin Pierce, break him. He only offered Jaesa the chance to stop it happening, firstly.

And he only waited for her to decide.

Jaesa clicked her tongue suddenly, reaching out to touch Pierce's elbow softly as she murmured a low sound. He glanced back towards her, looking confused. Then he turned ruddy again as a familiar voice winged through the air. The feeling that proceeded her, the ripple in the Force her presence brought to the confrontation, was heady enough that Jaesa actually turned wide, startled eyes towards the Mandalorian woman standing just inside the cantina entranceway. "No dead Rakghouls here, Lieutenant. Makes me wonder what the fuck you're up to this time around, mind you," the woman drawled.

Pierce felt his jaw drop as he turned to confront Kastiel's armored frame. She stood just inside the door of the tiny, cold cantina, standing pretty much the way he remembered her standing back on Taris. Her arms were crossed lightly together over her chest-plate and her head tilted slightly to the side. Pierce thought she was probably grinning at him all over again, except her face was covered behind one of those damned helmets Mandalorians seemed so much keen on wearing. But the devaronian standing behind her was grinning at him like a blasted child’s jester, like a goon only waiting to see him brought down a peg. Or two.

Pierce ground his teeth together, "Yea? Maybe you should go back to lugging the things around back on Taris, huh? Just keep out of my way."

Kastiel murmured, "I got what I went to Taris for, though. Now I'm here on Hoth." She leaned forward, "And you're in _my_ way, if it's bothering my people you make a habit of. Preen for your female elsewhere, Imperial."

Pierce glared at her. Especially when he noted Gault shaking his head in ironic amusement, standing there behind Kastiel, "You Mandalorians really do stick together, huh? Like little peas in a pod, wherever you go."

Gault couldn't help but laugh suddenly. He leaned over Kastiel's shoulder, whispering something against her ear. She barked a laugh, elbowing him back and away from her. She shook her head as she glanced back at him. "Stop it! I'm trying to be serious, here!" Pierce canted his eyebrow, confused. Not a comfortable feeling for the soldier, at all. So he glared threateningly at the Devaronian, "Going to drop a dead thing at my feet again?"

Gault chuckled. "Good guess. They always seem to have me trucking the dead shit around here. Not sure if there's a joke attached to that, actually, what with my horns and forked tongue and all. But no." He grinned toothily towards the soldier, "Was only telling Kas, here, that Torian's got no little peas in there. I've seen him sans pants, anyway. You should be careful, soldier. Never good idea to turn your back on a Mandalorian. Trust me, I know how quick they can kick you straight in the ass." Pierce sputtered, looking back over his shoulder towards Torian. The Mandalorian was tense and hard after Pierce turned his aggression on Kastiel.

Jaesa narrowed her eyes as she considered the confrontation, wholly. Her senses blared with understanding, like peeling colors that danced over her connection to the Force. The Mandalorian warrior, his male determination focused entirely on the woman he considered his own, was dangerous enough. But her? She made Jaesa's Force senses come alive wildly. Kastiel’s will was a blazing force all its own, until Jaesa thought she was just barely a thin line from being Force sensitive herself. Like if Kas only reached out, she’d tap into something keen and wickedly dangerous. Mind tricks wouldn’t work on the Hunter. But she would know they were being used, and it might anger her for the mere attempt. And side-to-side with the man, Kastiel presented a uniquely powerful threat. Together, they would hold their ground at least. But there was a real chance the Mandalorians might kill Pierce. And Jaesa with him, more than possibly.

Lord Lusiel would be pissed, Jaesa thought. So Jaesa didn’t even pretend a disheartened grumpiness as she groaned aloud, "Pierce! I'm bored with this nonsense. I'm hungry, in fact." Pierce turned to look at her, staring. He understood her, heard the warning heavy in her tone. He grumbled an angry assent, shooting one last glare at Torian as he trundled after Jaesa's swaying backside.

Gault watched them go, and he grumbled, "This place is fucking crowded, Kas. Makes me wonder how you plan to get off this ice bucket of a world without one of your siblings figuring out they're actually siblings of yours." Gault pointed towards one of the brightly-lit tables tucked against the back wall of the tiny cantina the Imperials set in the lower section of the outpost. He grinned as several of the soldiers drinking nearby pointedly stood and vacated the closer tables, refusing to be seen that close to their own more mercenary troop. Better to avoid too much attention, Gault thought.

Torian nodded in agreement as he settled into a seat, "The time is coming when we won't be able to keep it hidden anymore, _Cyare_." He knew what Kastiel was afraid of, knew what fear was compelling her. He knew she was afraid of failing all over again, and that the failure this time would cause even more damage to the people she was fighting to protect.

But she was so much stronger now, Torian thought. Kas wasn't a small child anymore, and she wasn’t alone. There was him, for one. But Torian was beginning to think her siblings would be just as fiercely adamant as she was.

Kastiel sighed, "I know that. Still. If only I'd killed Pella back when I beat her damn husband to death. But it figures that bitch was smart enough to avoid the estate that night. She always was so much smarter than her sister. Karen used to boast of it to my father, bragged that Pella was the one who made for him to marry her."

Gault harrumphed, “Politics and families wrangling for bloodlines … Always knew the Empire was messed up.” He patted Kastiel on the back, "And don’t go blaming yourself, Kas. Not many sixteen year-old humans can manage to tidy their sleeping quarters, let alone properly plan out the execution of a child-abuser. And her weasel of a husband, too."

Torian snorted. "You haven't known many Mandalorians."

The Devaronian laughed aloud, drawing the attention of a few of the soldiers settled against nearby tables there in the cold confines of the tiny cantina. "Still shocks the shit out of me I even _know_ some of them. Let alone that I actually like them. Mind-boggling." They settled around more securely against the table, leaning closer as if to preserve some body heat while they sipped mulled liquors. Gault sniffed delicately against the steam rising from his cup, "Hmmm, sweet stuff. Not like that damn Rattataki, Kas. She stomped off and left your brother on his own last night. One pissed off female, let me tell you."

Torian frowned over at Gault, “She left him alone? _Here_? Hasn’t she seen them watching him?"

Gault shrugged, “He was safe enough. Went flirting that little dark-skinned human girl, the one working with some of the Chiss. She … calmed him down. First time in weeks I’ve seen him look so relaxed, even.” He turned serious then as he leaned even closer, staring hard at Kastiel, "It's getting worse, Kas. Personally, I don't know how it is he's still hanging on. He’s close to breaking. I just can’t understand how his own people don't see it. Or why they choose not to do anything about it, if they do."

Kastiel pursed her lips, her eyes taking on a flinty, hard-edged sheen. She didn’t like Kaliyo, and bit out, "X said that pale-skinned woman was a harpy. Truth now, Gault – she going to be a threat to him?"

He snorted, "I'd say she was always a threat. But her outburst last night was way over the top, hardly like her. She's emotionally invested in him, I think." Gault chuckled darkly, "Ask me, and I would say your brother did that on purpose, mind you. He’s got her all wrapped up in emotional baggage. Manipulative whelp, that one."

Torian’s mouth twisted into an amused smirk, "Bad as Gaibriel?"

The Devaronian shook his head, "He’s dark. And more dangerous for it, too. Gaib is a sweetheart compared to his brother. I never, ever want to piss into Khyriel Phyre’s pool – he’d slowly, methodically, and precisely slice off that appendage of mine. Just to make a point."

Torian leaned back against the chair he was resting on, sighing, "It won't be much longer now, Kas."

Kastiel took a deep swallow from her cup, sighing as the warm liquid slid down her throat, "We continue as we've done so far.” Kas drew shapes into the tabletop with her finger, “Blizz says Vause will come after us if we poke him hard enough; so we go after a couple targets that earn his attention, Tor. In the meantime, Mako’s getting what we need from Gaib. He says the thing is almost ready, and I trust his tinkering with the device. So Gault sticks to Khyriel. Do whatever you've got to do, Gault. Just don’t let them put a finger on my brother." He nodded his horned head, wraggling a twisted sharp-toothed smile towards her.

Kastiel glanced towards the doors where Pierce and Jaesa had disappeared, then: "And for goodness sakes, let's try to keep out of my sister's way. Last thing we need right now is a pissed-off confused-as-shit Sith coming to look for us."

Torian smiled wryly, "Could be worse. Could be a Jedi we're dealing with, here."

* * *

He was so intent on watching the utterly sweet curves of her buttocks as she walked in front of him, that it took him a single wild moment to realize she'd actually started sliding across the cold, wet ice on the ground in front of them. She lurched and skidded, her ebony black braids actually spinning against her shoulders. Only for a moment, though. Still made the muscles he was intently studying clench hard into yummy-looking and perfectly tight bundles he wanted to smooth his hands across. Then she righted herself, murmuring a triumphant sound as she shot him an irrepressibly victorious grin.

He bit his lip, pulling against the merest edge of his mustache just to keep from laughing out loud. Probably a wasted effort, since she was well aware of his amusement. The steady look she tossed him made that obvious enough. Then she suddenly stuck out her tongue, playfully teasing him. And that's when he gave up the fight, actually leaning his head back as he guffawed loudly.

She was calm as she stood there and considered him, with only the briefest of smiles touching her pretty pink lips. She never ceased to amaze him, the level of tranquility with which she met … well, everything. Like nothing really affected her, or moved her. He suddenly stopped laughing, so abrupt that she frowned. Her small smile slid off her face so her expression turned curious, rather, "What's wrong, Doc?"

He tweaked his mustache, running one pointed finger along its edge so that it lay against his lip in a neat line once again. Doc sighed, "I’ve heard stories that Jedi have no feelings, none at all. Like they simply purge them, or something. I was only wondering at the truth of it all of a sudden. That's all." He eyed her, like she was a specimen of some kind there in whatever petrie dish he was bent over in the Med Bay. She shook her head.

"There is no emotion where there is peace. It's a matter of acceptance, an appreciation for one's feelings to the extent they do not control or dictate the course," she explained.

He studied her clinically through narrowed eyes. Her features remained as serene as they always were, her eyes dark and velvety. Beautiful. Those eyes of her were amazing. Deep, dark pools of goodness, sultry even though he knew very well she wasn't trying for that effect. He could melt into her gaze, he thought. Again. What the hell was it about this female, that she could move him so deeply without even seeming to try? He grumbled to her, "Is it an acceptance, really? Or a denial?"

"A common misconception. I don't _deny_ my feelings. They're real enough." She tucked one of the loose braids of her hair back behind her ear. A sweet habit he enjoyed watching, her tendency to play with those twisted braids of hers.

"I disagree, Jedi. I think you hide from your feelings, there in your head. It's why you forgot everything all those years ago. Because your feelings are just that overwhelming."

She stepped back, frowning hard suddenly, "Rediscovering my memories is an effort I thought we were making aboard ship. Not … here."

Doc nodded, easing his hand up against her shoulder until it rested softly there just above her collarbone. An anchor, a touch she used to ground herself in the here and now, rather than the sometimes harsh journey she was making with him now, in more recent days. He was her guide and her safety point. Doc knew she clung to him as she rediscovered herself, delighted in it even as it scared the ever-living crap out of him at the same time. Damn her for wiggling her cute little way right into that part of himself he'd always thought no woman could reach.

Because Doc knew he would never really hold onto her. Not really. She was more like a fledgling finding her wings all over again after they’d been cruelly clipped and slowly healed. Eventually she would fly.

Doc sighed then, "Just understand _yourself_ , Jedi. That's all."

She looked away, gazing out towards the terribly blue sky in the bare wilderness in front of the garrison. She wondered if Hoth was really so huge as it seemed, so barren and empty. Or if it seemed so only because it was so blank and white. Was it merely a harsh illusion? Or was there some hidden nuance to the place, secrets hidden beneath that pale, white expanse? "Something's out there, something … frightening. I can feel it, like a promise."

He held his hand against her shoulder. Just touched her. She eased into the security of his presence and sighed softly. Doc assured her, "I'll be right there with you, Camiel. Okay? You're not alone, here."


	75. Sliding Across Hoth

Slam raised his gaze up towards the blue expanse of sky overhead, sighing. The horizon was marked with a morbid gray line as a series of clouds formed together in the distance, sourly promising another storm. Slam ground his teeth together, remembering the last ice-storm that ripped along the snow-strewn landscape. It had clawed and chewed up everything along the way, too. Yet another sign of the sheer vitality of Hoth that convinced Slam the place was a damned determined thing.

Hoth wasn't the dead thing everyone assumed; there was energy, here. A blazing inferno of fire and motion, and he refused to believe any different. It didn’t matter how many frozen popsicles of men's remains Slam came across as he poked and prodded through the derelict crafts left behind after the battle from the last war, either. No, Hoth was just _hungry_. It gobbled up the lives of anyone who stepped foot here, is all.

The wind rose up in a sudden flourish. It smacked against his frame like it was making a solid blow, like someone hit him with a cudgel. Slam felt his breath catch as the ends of his coat flared up and snapping sharply against the backs of his thighs. Then he coughed as he swayed for balance, flinging his hands out to both his sides just waist-high as he braced himself.

Slam yanked against the edges of his coat's collar, easing it up along the dampness coating the back of his neck. He gamely ignored the melting snow that slid wetly past the collar and down along his sodden back. Wasn't like he could claim any sort of reasonable protection from the cold here. The White Maw didn't provide any real care for the men they used to gather resources on the planet, Slan thought with a snort.

And then the surface under his feet _shifted_. It fucking disappeared under his feet, the hard metal decking of the ship he was walking over … vanished. Vanished! Just like that; everything went to Hell in a handbasket that fast.

Slam screamed shrilly only once, a single cry to the sky overhead. Then he reached out like he could grab onto something, his arms flailing madly as he started falling. And like a miracle he managed to catch himself against a single, slender pipe that extended out from the rough, broken decking as the metal fell away under his feet. Slam grabbed onto the pipe, hard, and he felt himself jerked to a sudden, terrible, and painful stop. He gasped in a desperate bit of air through the choked feeling clogging his chest, and he clung as tight as he could onto that gift of a pipe, utterly terrified.

Slam swung his legs through the open air, trying to find some purchase, something solid he could put his feet on top of again. But there wasn’t anything and his legs just dangled futilely in the open air. He gulped and slowly eased his eyes open, staring out from behind his goggles as he considered this damned precarious thing of a position where he was stuck.

Slam's lower half was hanging over the jagged side of a drop into the inner depths of the small starship. After searching for hours for some way inside the damn thing -- here it was. Isn’t this a damned awful slap in the face, Slam thought angrily. He sneered up at the sky, "That damn determined to take me down, huh? Figures. Frackin' shit of a world."

He grunted, looking towards the slim pipe with worried eyes as he tried determining the best way to get his ass back up and over the side of the ship again. But the steady dripping of melting snow down into the interior was over-loud in his panicked senses. Just a plop, plop of moisture so much far down onto the floor inside. If his luck kept up, his own self would end up making a loud plop down into the darkness below.

And that’s when he heard something else. Slam froze, listening to the clanking sound of boots hitting against the metallic curves of the ship nearby. He sucked in another frozen breath, trying to look around the white piles of snow that obscured his sight the way it piled all around the damn hole he was hanging half inside of … Who was moving nearby?

Slam thought fast. His own men weren't close, not by a long shot. He was scouting off on his own, and excitedly whooped when he came across the small craft there on the fringes of the Graveyard. It was like a strange boon from fate, a strange bit of luck after a truly crappy series of bad turns. Wasn’t likely he could hide it from Aroya for too long a time – not when his droids kept stock of overabundance among the scavengers. But small prizes that lined his own pockets were easy enough to hide from Aroya’s droids.

But that also meant he was on his own now, when he really needed some back-up. He wouldn’t be the first Scavenger in the Maw who’s life was swallowed up trying to find ragged junk in the Graveyard’s many tombs. Because tombs is what the damn ships that crashed into the surface during that years-ago battle really were, and Slam had yanked enough old devices and metals from the frozen fingers of the dead crew the ships carried into the icy ground to know it for certain.

Which begged the question. Who the Hell was poking around nearby; who was it coming closer to Slam with every hard, distinct step?

Slam held his breath as he watched carefully, his head craning back and forth as he tried catching sight of ... whoever it was. He was watching so hard that the sound of the man's voice actually startled him and Slam wheezed out a huff as he tightened his gloved fingers around the slender pipe to keep from disappearing through the deep, dark hole. Crap, wouldn’t it be just priceless if he fell instead of getting himself shot in the face first? Dammit! Then the man’s voice came at him, muffled by a helmet of some sort: "A rope, or a cable would've been helpful. Should have had one on hand when you climbed up here."

"Yea … well, fuck me. Because it's so damn easy to get supplies round here, right?"

Slam saw his boots first, because his own head was still set low enough to the ship’s broken surface right then. The man’s boots were plated armored things, and they moved into his line of sight in a smooth and easy glide of motion. As if the man was in utter control of his own self there on top of the ship’s outer lining and never mind the bite and snarl of the wind across the surface. This wasn’t a fellow who struggled with his balance, apparently.

And he sounded amused, too, "It’s easy enough to get what you need. If you’re teamed with the right people. Choose wrongly, and you’ll fall to enemies instead. Hard lesson, hmm?" Then the man kneeled down, so that Slam could see his full front. He gasped as the helmeted visage finally came into his view, "You’re Mandalorian? I’m so fucked!"

Slam thought the man might be amused again. But his tone was calm and easy as he replied from behind the helmet, "I could leave you here instead. Your choice."

"Erhm ... Nah, rather not be left this way. Not by myself, leastwise. Damned Hoth! Gods, I hate this place." Slam managed to puff out some more complaints, looking down towards his dangling legs and the darkness that reached up towards his boots. The Mandalorian grunted, reaching out with one arm. Slam frowned towards the gloved fingers reaching out for him. But then he grabbed at the proffered limb, gasping as the fingers tightened around his wrist and yanked him back up and onto the cold, frozen surface of the ship. Slam grumbled, "Take it you have a rope. To get up here, I mean."

He wagered the man was smiling at him from behind that stupid helmet. “My team's better, yes. Here." He yanked Slam again, pulling on his arm in a cruel twist until he was pressed up against his armored side. Then they were both sailing through the air, as the man's jetpack flared brightly yellow-orange against the snow all around them. Slam yelled loudly, grappling against the man's shoulders in sheer panic as they coasted down to land there on the ground. Slam stumbled, scowling when the Mandalorian loosed him even before he was steady on his feet. He practically bent sideways to keep from tumbling over onto his ass into the snow.

"Hey! No need to drop me like something from inside the junkers!" Slam started to punch against the Mandalorian's shoulder. But then he heard someone chuckling from nearby, from behind the man’s shoulder. The voice startled Slam, and he spun towards low feminine-sounding tone.

He faced another Mandalorian. The curviest damned Mandalorian he ever caught sight of; although he hadn’t seen too Mandalorians, either. Still, he gaped at the bended curves of the woman’s armor, that highlighted the female shape more than hid it away. As he stood there, Slam thought crazily how long it was since he last saw any woman, actually. It had to be long days ago, if a woman who’s face was totally lost behind a tough, iron-strong faceplate still managed to excite the ever-living crap out of him.

Or maybe it was precisely because he couldn't see her face. Just oodles of sweetly carved female-ness, so delicious and ripely appealing. Except then that warrior edged himself back to stand alongside the woman again, practically shouting his claim.

Well, dammit to every Corellian Hell there was, Slam snorted to himself. He just couldn't get a break. Fracking Hoth!

"And here we were curious why you were screaming so much. Torian could put you back up there, though," the woman drawled. She didn't even try and hide her amusement, either. The way she canted her head made it obvious enough, and then her tone dripped with it. Hells, she actually chuckled there at the end.

Yep, that was his own blasted luck. Find a woman out in the wilds of Hoth, and she laughs at him. There were worlds he wished would blow up. Hoth was at the top of that list, he decided.

"No thanks. I'll keep my feet on the ground for now. Won't be long before Aroya sends me back in there, anyway. He isn't keen on losing out on a prize, and he won’t worry a single damned credit chip about my sorry hide, either. Now, if I were some fancy-assed droid that'd be different. But no. Just plain 'ole human, that's me," he laughed morosely. Slam sometimes wondered if Aroya was a typical Gran. The species seemed chirpy enough – but Aroya was damned strange with the way he labeled himself like he was a droid. Then he talked about his droids like they were related to him somehow. Maybe Aroya was just damned crazy. Stranger things than that’d happened on Goth, Slam thought. He frowned then, as the woman became stiff and ready suddenly, "Uhh ... what are you doing out here, anyway?"

"Hunting." She looked past him, towards the man still standing behind him and nodded. Slam suddenly felt defensive all over again. Mandalorians wouldn’t be trooping around pulling men out of holes in these ships if it was Wampas they were hunting. He cringed, holding his hands up in the air, "Look, I'm just a low-down Salvager. Got nothing worth taking or fighting over, believe me."

"You've got Blizz' things, if it's Aroya-9 you're working for out here."

"Blizz?" Slam felt a minor sense of cheer rising up in him. As if something was finally going right. He sighed, "Well. I’m glad to hear he's doing well enough to send a couple of toughies out hunting for his stuff. Wasn't right, what was done to 'im. Tried speaking up but only managed to get him snuck out and turned in to those blue bastards. Aroya wanted him strung up," he mumbled in a stream of sorrowful words.

"Yea, well, I don't think Blizz was real happy about it either way. The Chiss haven't killed him yet. But that's only because he has some small uses, still." The woman leaned back on the heels of her boots and crossed her arms over her chest as she snarled at him.

"You're kidding, right? They're still hunting for the boss?" Slam shook his head, "Remind me not to get on the bad side of those blue freaks."

The man she'd called Torian leaned closer. He said, "I think you're already on their bad side. Anyone who calls Vause 'boss' isn't someone they're considering a friend, anyway."

Slam nodded. "'Magine Blizz' uses are better than mine, too. That Jawa was always able to do spiffy shit with the things we found in the Graveyard. But the boss didn’t listen to me when I told him that Blizz could put together the best tools in minutes flat … Shouldn’t waste a prize like that." He leaned closer, "Since Blizz was took, I avoid most of the others from sense I might be turned on, too. And if you’re speaking true about getting Blizz’ stuff, might want to know most of it was parceled out among the other Salvagers."

"Yea. Imagine it’s easier to misuse someone so much smaller than you are. Hardly challenging, and speaks to the sheer laziness of your group, to boot," she hummed. Slam shivered against the cold unease that skittered through him. Not any Mandalorian he’d ever heard of would bother themselves over retrieving the pitifully brief belongings of a tiny Jawa. Whatever was driving this pair, they were only disgusted by the dregs of scavengers they pushed out of their way as they went along. Although Slam almost halfway believed Blizz could’ve charmed his way into their regard; he wouldn’t put it past the little bugger. Slam missed him almost that much, too.

Slam studied them carefully, the two Mandalorian warriors. Hunting, they said.

Slam huffed out a sigh, looking back towards the derelict starship protruding through the frozen ground. He should've known, he supposed. "Did Blizz ... just tell me if Blizz asked you to kill me? Not that I'd blame 'im, mind you. But it would be a huge buzz-kill to know I died because someone I really liked was that pissed at me."

The woman cocked her head to the side, so that the briefest sunlight glinted off the dark faceplate of hers. It reflected back at him from the icy snow-covered ground all around them. "You're called Slam Streever, aren't you?"

Slam nodded, waiting for the killing blow. He watched as the Mando woman crossed her arms over her chest again and she chuckled, "Then, no. Blizz didn't ask me to hurt you. He told me you were his friend. I think that’s worse, mind you. Because I figure it really bothered the crap out of him that you were one of the men who scared and hurt him. And that, honestly, really ticks at my temper. Still ..." She stiffened again, standing straight up as she leaned closer to Slam. He actually found himself leaning backwards, in fact. She prodded him in the chest with a pointed finger, "I’ll get the chance to make quite a few of you fuckers bleed as I’m going along, and I’m not completely unwilling to make you one of them. So just tell me where the bastard pirates called Aroya-9 and Gradak Ungan are? I'm looking to meet them."

Torian smiled behind his helmet as Slam Streever gulped yet again back from Kastiel's firm and angry determination to hunt down her target. And he began mentally calculating the space that Jawa would take up on the "Bad Boy" when they left Hoth behind.


	76. Didn't See That One Coming

"Storm's coming." Torian frowned worriedly towards the dark clouds gathering over the snow-covered crags nearby. Kastiel stopped what she was doing to glance over in the same direction. With her attention diverted, her fingers slipped against the side of Torian's thigh so that her fingers actually bumped against the tender edges of the kolto-packed laceration she just finished covering there.

Torian sucked in a heavy breath as pain rippled through his leg. Kastiel mumbled unhappily, looking up at him from her kneeling position. He actually grunted an amused sound as he looked down at her, "Pain's worth it, just to see you on your knees in front of me like that."

"Now there's a thought," Kas grinned as she glanced along the armored plates covering Torian’s abdomen and groin. She reached around his leg to snap his leg armor plates back into place, subtly rubbing against the tender flesh along the back of his thigh. He hissed around the sudden, ready arousal she never failed to make in him. Injury or no, even. Kastiel chuckled, looking back up at him, "Can't be exposing such precious parts of you to the cold, though. Would be a shame if it froze right off."

"That would be troublesome, yea." He reached out to place his fingers just under the edge of her helmet's chin, breathing softly as he touched her against the neck. A steady touch – the regular one they shared together as often as possible, that conveyed his sheer presence. Always assuring her of his desire and his appreciation. The gesture was _theirs_ ; it was a serious promise they gave to each other every time. Of belonging and of intention. Kastiel sighed as she accepted him all over again, and heard him murmuring to her, “Twinged, is all. Kolto's working fast. You fixed me up good, Kas."

Kastiel raised herself up back to standing, turning to pack the medical gear back into place in the rear cargo of her Orlean speeder. Torian grunted as he watched Kas lean down over the speeder so that her buttocks curved deliciously high up in the air. Impossible to miss, he thought. Few sights managed to please him more. Kas glanced at him over her shoulder, "Let's make it a point to avoid the blades of crazy-assed pirates, okay? Watching you bleed pisses me off."

Torian’s lips curled into a small grin, as he finished clearing the specks of blood from the end of his electrostaff. He tucked the blade he was using back into the customary sheathe that ran along his forearm, muttering thoughtfully, "Figured that's why you made that Gundak Ungan fellow take a header off the ledge into the lava bath. He squealed a lot, though. Annoying sound."

"At least he didn't last long enough to squeal too much," Kastiel shrugged. "Maybe Gundak's and Aroya's loud dying will finally catch Vause's notice. Get him out into the open. Not many will keep following the pirate that can't keep his lieutenants from squealing in pools of Hoth lava."

Then the ground suddenly trembled under their feet. Torian jerked his head up, scanning northwards towards the site of several Imperial artillery emplacements. They traversed the area several hours earlier, as they were heading towards the site of the White Maw pirates smelting ores. The soldiers at the site even waved at them as they passed along. Kastiel stepped closer to Torian now, standing alongside him as they both watched billows of smoke extending up into the air in the distance.

"Well. There's another piece of bad luck. Was hoping to shelter with that troop through the storm. Not sure we'll be able to make it all the way to the outpost from here. Not in time, anyway. May have to use one of those tiny emergency shelters, and dammit," Kastiel grumbled unhappily as she watched the inky black smoke inch its way across the sky. She was thinking of the miniscule boxes that passed for shelters interspersed throughout the terrain, all of them manned by a single medical droid and a measly pair of turrets. She glanced at Torian. He was still tense next to her as he continued scanning the terrain.

"Didn't note any Republic troop movements, though," Torian grumbled.

Kas frowned, thinking fast. She mumbled, "There were enough troops, that taking out the artillery would've required a sizeable force."

Torian grunted. "Or just a small, highly skilled team."

Kastiel turned her attention south, pointing, "The closest Republic outpost lies almost four kilometers straight south from there. Probably why they wanted the artillery taken out, by the way. But that means …" The hum of approaching speeders sounded.

"Whoever did it will be headed in this direction," Torian yanked his staff up, lifting his chin in the direction of the encroaching threat. Kastiel nodded as she stepped in front of him, smoothly lifting her blasters from their holders along her hips. Their positions were comfortable, both of them easy in their familiar motions together.

The Mandalorians settled back onto the balls of their booted feet, prepared to move and move fast. But the swirls of snow that preceded the encroaching group actually obscured their sight for several long, tense moments. Only the heat signatures of the enemy coming at them was obvious through their visors. Kastiel hummed as Torian remarked to her, using soft expressions of _mando'a_ , "Only two, Kas. Two able to take on an entire troop of Imperial soldiers? Careful, _cyare_. Don’t underestimate them.”

The Republic team abruptly lurched to a stop there in front of the Mandalorians. The snow slowly dissipated, while a series of loud masculine curses filled the air. Kastiel smiled as she listened to the Republic-accented Basic skittering through the air, "Come on! Just for once, can’t something be easy? Seriously! You didn’t even make it a point to blow up those Imps – just the guns. So what’s with the hassle now?"

"I hardly see this as any sort of hassle, Doc. We're only stopped, rather."

"Stopped, when we're busy running from a whole slew of pissed off Imps _is_ a hassle, Jedi."

Torian moved slowly, running several scenarios through his diagnostic screen behind the faceplate of his helmet as he maneuvered into a more defensive position just behind Kastiel. She murmured softly, "It's always a Jedi that wants to be our headache, huh?" He shrugged lightly, breathing back to her, "Almost like they have some kind of plan for it. Or maybe they just like us."

Kastiel shook her head ruefully as she lifted her helmeted visage towards the man and woman climbing off their speeders to face them. Thick jackets and scarves covered their frames. But Kas could still tell they were human enough. What with the lower halves of their faces left bare, anyway.

The furred whiskers of the man's black mustache was twitching as he stepped carefully alongside the female, like he was habitually amused. But the woman's skin was pale, unblemished and soft-looking, and her lips were set into a very calm, relatively serene expression as she stood there. She couldn’t look more Jedi if she tried, Kastiel thought. She saw several tendrils of black hair extending down in a series of slender braids from under the edges of headpiece the Jedi was wearing. But Kastiel couldn't discern anything of the woman’s eyes, since her gaze was hidden behind a darkly tinted faceplate.

The man grumbled wonderingly as he examined them, "They look like Mandalorians, Jedi. Although that's the curviest-looking Mando I've ever seen, I do believe. Didn't know they could make that armor into such sweet shapes."

The woman glanced over at him, "Do you imagine her curves would make it less likely she'd attack you, Doc?" The man chuckled, shaking his head ruefully.

Kastiel smirked over at the Jedi, "Wager he knows better than that, actually." She gestured towards the smoke-filled sky behind the pair, "You two destroyed our shelter for the night. I'm not particularly happy with you at the moment." Torian shifted, hefting his staff close against his side as he growled low under his breath.

The dark-haired man chuckled at them, "You guys did notice my friend here is a Jedi, right?"

Kastiel shrugged unconcernedly, "I’ve faced Jedi before. And I won." She leaned forward slightly, smiling at the man as his mustache squirmed with bemusement, "I don't think the Jedi Order really likes me, actually."

The woman frowned at her for the first time. It wasn’t really confusion that marked her tone, though. It was more that she was sad over some kind of loss. She murmured to Kastiel, "You've destroyed Jedi?"

"A few." Kastiel tapped the ends of her blasters against her belt and listened to the soothing rhythm for several moments. She watched the Jedi woman raise a small, slender palm and wave it subtly. The gesture was familiar enough. Mandalore had described Jedi mind-tricks to her, gesturing angrily as they discussed her confrontation with Kellian Jarro, " _They use their Force to manipulate and coerce a warrior's ability to make an honorable choice. Don't get me wrong, either. The Sith can do the same. But at least they're honest enough about it. The Jedi will call themselves noble even as they perform such degrading acts. They_ lie _, in fact_."

"You don't want to oppose us. You want to let us pass," the Jedi crooned at her.

Kastiel just stood there, smirking at them from behind her helmet, "Yea. That Jedi on the Aurora tried that, too. How'd he put it again? Oh, right. Said I had ' too strong a will'. Was Tarro who was done in by that little trick. Not me."

Torian grunted loudly, "Tarro Blood had no ounce of honor and died like the dog he was."

The Jedi breathed out slowly. If Kastiel could put a name to her expression now, it was probably contemplative. Or thoughtful. "You're the bounty hunter who killed Master Jarro."

Kas shrugged, not feeling the statement warranted a verbal response. The woman looked pained for only a moment. It wasn’t real sorrow, not like she was mourning a true friend. It was more general a sadness. Like hearing someone from your village was lost, rather than a member of your family.

She probably heard of the incident, some story of it maybe. Kastiel almost laughed as she imagined the Jedi sitting around a table, sipping something mulled or sweet perhaps -- as they all discussed stories about her. She leaned sideways only slightly towards Torian as she murmured, "Not sure how it’s really spiffy, that I'm so famous among the Jedi, too."

Torian grumbled, "It would explain the Jedi hunting us, back on Quesh."

"Exactly."

The mustached fellow stepped forward, suddenly. Until he stood very nearly beside the Jedi. He was grinning widely towards Kastiel, a cajoling sort of smile. _The man's trying to cozen me_ , she thought. How cute.

"You know. It’s not every day I get to meet someone so much … renowned. Let’s say, we take off our helmets and settle in the cantina for some drinks, talk all about your adventures. What do you say?" The man's voice was dripping with seductive humor. Kastiel couldn't help it – she busted into a low laugh as she looked over at him.

"You remind me of my brother ...” Kastiel cocked her head, “What did she call you? Doc? Are you a healer?"

Doc glanced to the side only briefly, noting the Jedi's subtle wiggle of her chin. "Been known to heal a time or two, yes. Why, do you require my services? Sweetheart, I'd be ever so glad to service you. Trust me."

Torian snorted, "Let me lop off his face hair, Kas. So it stops wiggling so much."

"Doc, I am fast coming to believe your ability to make friends is seriously constrained. It's a skill – that of negotiation. You should work to improve yours," the Jedi patted her companion's forearm with friendly patience. If Kastiel had to guess, it wasn't the first time they had this particular level of discourse. She smirked at the mustached doctor, realizing his flirtation was little more than a needling against the sensibilities and attractiveness of his little Jedi. She mumbled to Torian, "He wants _her_ , actually. He’s trying to make her jealous. How funny."

Torian shook his head, "I don't like him." Kastiel shrugged. She was more amused, actually. It seemed the doctor's efforts to create jealous possessiveness had worked pretty well, just not in the proper target.  

"You're the only woman I know who's ever said I can't make friends, Camiel!” Doc rolled his eyes in supposed vexation, “It’s just mind-boggling! I have friends everywhere, mind you.”

"I’m not sure you should call them friends, Doc. Remember the Rattataki woman? She was frightening, rather,” the Jedi turned back to the bounty hunter, still trying to divert the Mandalorians from stopping their dash across the snow. Camiel thought she should maybe appeal to the woman’s innate humor, more than anything. Except that when she looked at the hunter, she realized the Mando was more stunned than amused.

Kastiel stepped forward. Only once before she stopped again, her mind floundering with surprise and sudden anxiety. She took a deep breath, gathering herself. Torian was stiff and tense next to her, as he sensed her strong disquiet. Kastiel leaned forward, intentionfully, "Camiel? Are you called Camiel _Shorn_?" The Jedi’s eyes narrowed towards her.

Camiel frowned, “How do you know my name? What would the Clans know of me?” Cam thought her skin felt flushed and hot, as a vague sense of surprised fear edged along her spine. Being hunted by Mandalorians wasn’t a course she anticipated. Not when she was so intent on motions directly opposed to the Empire, rather. Was the Emperor aware of their plans? Had he directed the Mandalorians against the Jedi again?

Kastiel shook her head sharply strong, suddenly angry. She pointed a gloved finger at Camiel, “What’s happened to you? How did the Jedi find you? Gaib’s looked for you – _I_ looked for you! For years!”

The name hit Camiel like the hunter tossed some strong rock at her and hit her square in the middle of the face. Cam’s entire frame went hard and stiffly straight, “I know that name … But who is he? What does he want with me?” Camiel lifted her chin, stumbling a step forward and almost slipping on the melting snow under her boots. She demanded, “Who are _you_?”

Kastiel was confused. She snarled, “What the hells do you mean, who is he? Are you serious?” Kas felt Torian bumping her shoulder but she didn’t drop her gaze from the Jedi woman. She wanted to grab her, felt her fingers curling tightly against her sides as she watched the woman’s chin tremble slightly. Kas kicked up a bit of snow, scowling, “Gaibriel’s mother was called Tamerie. Tamerie _Shorn_! Gaibriel Shorn Duncan is what he’s called now -- he’s your twin, Cam!” Her gaze darted between Camiel and Doc, frustration pulling at her, “Don’t you dare deny him! It would rip him apart; has ripped him apart all these years!”

"Twin? He’s my …” Camiel's eyes went stark behind her faceguard as the truth of it finally sank into her. She saw the flash of blue eyes against the background of her broken memories, heard the distant remembering of his laughing – he was always laughing. Cam felt herself floundering. Like she was standing on the edge of a precipice and sliding down from pebbled sand under her feet. She gasped in a breath, struggled to regain her balance with regulated breaths. And she mumbled. So softly Kastiel barely heard Camiel say, “I can’t remember him.”

Kastiel blanched.

There was a man in Tobie's clinic once. He had the singular misfortune to slosh a bit of mud across the boots of a young Sith lordling visiting the work fields earlier in the day. The Sith proceeded to levitate the poor fellow, tossing him willy-nilly through the mud and grit, easily and willfully flaying him against the roughest surfaces he could find. When they finally brought the pathetically broken man to Tobie, the poor fool’s mind had broken under the strain and shock, until he lay gibbering on the table as Tobie worked to repair the damage.

He seemed to recover eventually, becoming sensible over the days that followed. But he literally forgot everything that happened there in that field, too. Tobie explained to her, " _We can fix their broken bones and flesh easily enough. That's simple -- because you can see it, can see where it's torn and shattered. But wounds to the mind? Most patients build scars and healing wounds on their own minds, creating barriers and self-defense mechanisms that block out the worst damage. No barrier lasts forever, though. Some learn to deal with it and they become stronger. Others are too broken. Those are the ones like Karen; like your father’s wife. They're mad, Kas. And they can’t be fixed. Just destroy them then; it’s the least you can do._ "

Someone _hurt_ her sister. Hurt Camiel so badly, that Cam’s mind hid from it through thick, terrible scars and murky shadows. Kastiel felt her heart beating slower, harder – she could very practically count every beat of the organ in her chest. All she could remember was her own father’s voice in her head, as if he was standing right next to her and reminding her all over again: “ _Never forget. There’s nothing more important than keeping your siblings from being hurt_.” She failed Camiel so badly; so much bad it made the ache in her stomach tighten into a hard, terrible knot and then twisted roughly.

Kastiel bit her lip hard enough that blood washed the inside of her mouth suddenly, and Torian shifted alongside her, murmuring a low noise to her. She whispered to him, "My fault." Torian shook his head. He reached out like he was going to touch her along the inside of her arm. But then the whistling peal of a missile filled the air.

Torian yelled out, "Down!" He jumped towards his Kastiel, bumping her roughly down towards the ground before curling himself over her back as a rocket trumpeted in their direction and impacted hard against the nearby outcropping of snow and ice.

Shards of ice flew in all directions, pinging in a steady rain against Torian’s armor. Clods of dirt followed, landing in dark patches against the snow. He looked, watching as the Jedi flung up a force barrier against the impact to protect herself and her man in one single swoop. Underneath him, Kastiel loosed a single groan and he looked down at her, preparing to bark directions – tell her to move, get out of the way, something.

But then he saw the splash of bright red against the white snow under Kastiel. And Torian’s entire mind went white and blank as he focused every bit of his being on her. He had to get his hunter somewhere safe, out from harm’s way.

Torian jerked his gaze back up, glaring over towards the Jedi woman. The slight-looking female was saying something; she was shouting towards her doctor friend. But Camiel stopped just long enough to look back towards them. She frowned, staring at Torian for a single long moment and watching him as he held tightly towards an unconscious Kastiel.

Torian shook his head, gesturing angrily as he snarled loudly at her, "Get out of here! Go!" Doc pulled at Camiel's arm, yelling at her to follow him. Torian turned away from them, reaching down to take care of Kastiel. He yanked her close to him, watched as her head lolled back against the grip of his arm under her shoulders. He muttered a command into the diagnostics behind his helmet, listened to the computer starkly outlining the problem: "Subject suffering thirteen percent blood loss; penetration injury to left abdomen, puncture wound to left kidney; interior bleeding. Armor's environmental protection compromised. Advise rapid evacuation and medical intervention. Blood loss now twenty-two percent."

Torian grunted as he tumbled Kastiel frontways across his thighs to find the neat, round hole against her lower back where the armor plates didn’t cover her torso. He growled, fumbled to rip aside her undershirt and cover the injury with a kolto-bandage. Then he quickly covered all of it with a fibrous patch to protect her tender skin from the environment. Torian sighed as his system intoned, "Blood loss slowed. Environmental protections remain negligible."

Torian looked up when he heard shouting. The Jedi and her medic were gone, but the approaching squad of Imperial soldiers sounded loud and angry as they came closer. He snarled towards them, offended by every single noise they were making. Torian clambered to his feet, clutching his precious burden as he hurried towards their nearby speeders. He glared over at the lieutenant who tried to bark at him about leaving, growling aloud, "Work on your aim, _di’kut_. Maybe someday you can actually hit your targets, rather than the Mandoes trying to stop them. Till then, keep out of our way."

Then he turned his back to the gaping fool of an officer and dismissed the entire lot of soldier in favor of lifting Kastiel up onto the rear of his own speeder. Torian tucked her gently into place and piled some of the loose furs they gathered during recent confrontations with the local wildlife around her frame. The furs would keep her warm even through her armor’s compromising.

Only then did he open a commlink to Mako. The cyborg's holoimage blinked into place in front of him just as he was securing Kastiel's speeder to his own, intent on hauling it behind him as they moved. She was frantic, "Torian? Shit! What's going on? Systems are alarming, here."

"Mako, give me the coordinates of the nearest emergency shelter. Something with a medical droid in place." He glanced skyward again, "And hurry. Storm's about to hit."


	77. A Healing

 The howling gales of wind against the sides of their tiny shelter managed to produce shudders enough that Kastiel woke up. She blinked wearily into the dim light of the small space.

A thin-framed medical droid was steadily monitoring the holodisplay over the bed where she lay, clicking softly at the flashing lights on the screen. It chirped at her as her awareness became obvious, leaning down to examine the kolto-infused bandage adhered to her back. She barely flinched as it probed the slightly sore spot, realized the healing was well-progressed in the hours since she was injured.

Shrapnel, maybe, she thought. Or a rock. Ice? Whatever-it-was most likely hit against the lower edge of her armor, probably slipped just past the thin line that divided the back of her chestpiece from the plates that protected her groin and waist. Figures that some absurd bit of material would knock her straight on her ass, and past her armor, too. Kas slowly scanned the interior of the shelter. She looked for her armor, hoping the damage wasn't overly serious. Hoth was hell on getting re-fitted. But she could see Torian had already crafted a sturdy patch to repair the brief tear into the edge of her armor. That would figure, too. Her Mando was always quick to keep their gear in the best shape possible.

She sighed softly, snuggling closer against warmth all along her front. Torian was bare against her, and hard and hot. She listened to the steady thrum of his breaths against her forehead. Their legs were tangled together underneath the blankets that covered them, too, and she breathed in steadily as she felt his heavy erection pressing against the soft folds between her legs. His arms were wrapped firmly around her, well above the wound against her lower back and his chin rested so softly along the top of her head.

Kas felt cocooned in the warmest security, and never mind her nakedness or the terrible screams of the wind outside. Hell, her back didn't even pain her as she just lay there, basking in the comfort she didn't really feel she deserved.

"You should sleep, Kas," Torian's rumbled voice vibrated his chest alongside her breasts. She turned her head to lick gently against the corded muscles just below his collarbone, smiling lightly as he sucked in a heady breath. His cock jerked against her, causing a burst of moisture to come from her as her own arousal sparked.

She moaned softly. Torian leaned his head down, nuzzling her temple in slow, simple motions as he ran the fingers of one hand in a single gliding trail along the length of her spine. He listened, as her moans turning to panting groans. Smiling, Torian murmured to her, "Then again ..." He made some more incomprehensible sounds, just the briefest grunts as he encouraged her rising desire and used the palm of his hand against her tailbone to press her closer against him, rocking into her with gentle, slow, and steady beats of his hips.

The droid suddenly intoned loudly in the miniscule confines of the shelter, "Sexual activity will increase body temperature and accelerate the healing process in the female human. Such intercourse is advisable. Please continue."

Kastiel smiled, leaning her head back to look up at Torian. He was staring stonily across the tiny space towards the droid, and she couldn't help it. She laughed softly, biting her lip only after he turned his gaze back to her. She nodded at him with pretended solemnity. Like an imperious dictator, "My health is very important, Tor. You'd better do as it says." Torian blinked, his lips twitching with slow amusement.

He reached down, running the palm of his hand along the length of her thigh so he could grasp her behind her knee. He tickled her there gently, watching her eyes glimmer with more humor. Then he pulled her limb higher, curling her leg until her knee rested on top of his own thigh and her groin was completely exposed to him.

Torian glanced at the droid again, even as the sound of Kastiel's aroused whimpers huffed against the lower half of his face and she licked him again along the underside of his chin. She swiped her tongue up and over the length of facial hair that striped his chin, then. Torian moaned and ordered aloud, "Droid, stop monitoring the female. Deactivate until ordered otherwise." He didn't even watch as the machine slowly quieted and the glowing lights of its eyes went dark.

Torian just reached out to touch Kastiel so gently along her scarred jaw, watched instead the way she melted into his touch and leaned her face softly against his fingers. He smiled, "You're really beautiful." She scoffed lightly but he only leaned closer to her, running his tongue in a smooth swipe along the seam of her lips until she gasped. Then he swept inside, tangling his tongue with hers as he feasted and groaning into her mouth for several long, sweet moments.

Torian rolled them both over so that he lay under Kastiel, balancing her against his up-thrust thighs with her legs straddling his hips heatedly. He sat up and leaned back against the wall of the shelter at the head of the brief, narrow bed. Kas gasped, nearly falling into him as she pressed herself forward so the hard points of her nipples burned against Torian's chest.

Torian arched his back, pushing her far enough away that he was able to lean over and open his mouth against her breast. He yanked the pink of her nipple into his mouth. The sounds of his suckling thrilled her. She threw her head back, gripping the hair against the back of his head to hold him against her as he sucked her deep into his mouth.

He released the sweet berry, rearing back again. Torian’s eyes looked like molten gold as he gripped her thighs to pull her tighter against him, rolling his hips steadily under the smooth curves of her rear. Kastiel moaned his name, laying the palms of both her hands flat against the taught muscles of his abdomen while he softly chanted to her; he told her how beautiful she was, how hot, how much he wanted her. Kas flushed brightly and looked down at him, stunningly aroused as she dazedly wondered what he saw whenever he watched her. She tried leaning down, like she was going to bury her face into the curve of his throat. But Torian hissed at her, "Look at me, Kas. I want to watch you, to see you. Don't hide your face from me."

So she straightened back up. Torian huffed softly, murmuring a warning about the wounding to her back and softly running his fingers against the skin there.

Then he moaned when Kastiel placed both her hands against the sides of his face to hold onto him, touching him while her gaze focused on his. They stared into each other’s eyes, as Torian lifted Kas high enough, just enough the head of his erection very gently broached her opening. Like that part of him was just clasped and kissed by the lips of her entrance. Torian froze there and waited, soaking just inside her. He enjoyed that briefest moment when he knew Kastiel was accepting him so utterly he could feel her heartbeat through the pulse of her blood in those muscles gripping him that warm and wetly.

"I love you, Torian," Kastiel gasped out.

He smiled at her. And then he dropped her slowly, letting gravity slide her down onto him. Kastiel inhaled a breath, bucking her hips once he was all the way inside. But Torian frowned, tightening his hands against her sides to hold her and keep her from moving. She sighed, "Only one I know who worries about my ability to get the job done." Torian smiled again. He flexed his cock so easily there inside of her, letting it jump enough she mewled his name from the sheerness of the sensation.

He murmured, "That would only keep me from my own work." Torian began a steady rhythmic bucking of his hips, reaching up into her, "I want to please you, make sure there's nothing that hurts. It should feel _good_ , Kas." She bit her lip, knowing that he didn't mean her sore back right then.

He reached out to clasp his hands against her slender hips gently. He didn’t smile anymore, just held her as he started moving faster, thrust into her harder. Kastiel slowly came apart above him, her dark eyes melting, melting. Torian listened to her, listened to the keening cries she made and her moaning whispers that were his name. And he twisted his pelvis, grinding himself against her tender, silky clit, always conscious of her sore back. He wanted to comfort her, to soothe her. To thrill her.

Kastiel dropped her hands down to Torian's shoulders, watching the way his brown eyes gleamed golden in his face. She didn’t drop her eyes, as the sound of his flesh smacking against hers filled the dimness that surrounded them. Until that's all there was, was each other. Moving, moaning and murmuring back and forth to each other. The rhythm was steady, regular, and intense.

Until it started, bursting upon Kastiel first the way Torian always liked. Only this time she was looking steadily into his eyes when it happened and he saw it there first, saw the deep earthy richness of her eyes going sheer, ebony black with the strength of her orgasm. Torian groaned, "Can feel it. You’re so tight! _Ner_!" He caught her as she collapsed forward against his chest, her forehead laying against his shoulder as she shuddered and shook on top of him. He held onto her tightly as his body bucked under her and he spilled himself inside of her, possessive of every moment her muscles milked against him.

They basked there, laying wrapped around each other as Torian eased back until he was utterly prone on the surface of the small bed and she was limp atop his entire frame. He held her, refusing to pull himself loose from the grip her channel kept him in as he savored the way her soft inner muscles twitched and contracted against him every so often. He could feel the rough breaths she loosed against his shoulder, could feel the sweat pooling between their bodies until both of them were damp with it. She stroked his upper arms slowly, squeezing against the bunched muscles under her palms intermittently. The quiet was soothing, calming as he waited.

Kastiel finally sighed, "He'll hate me."

Torian didn't pretend. He simply stroked his fingers up across the still-healing wound along her lower back as he considered, "A warrior's supposed to protect, to provide for his clan. The _Resol'nare_ tells us so. So we know what it means to have honor. To fight." His heart thumped against her naked breasts and he inhaled, "Your brother will know that's what you did, that that's what you're doing now. You wear the marks to prove it, Kas."

Kastiel snuffled against him, "It wasn’t enough."

He shook his head, "I was there, Kastiel. You can lie to yourself all you wish. But I saw it myself. I saw you running in there to defend them, to fight for your _alit_. You put your own life down, agreed to give it up just so they'd have the chance to live. It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen – it was _Mando’ad_." He looked at her when she raised her head back up, her dark eyes shimmering wetly at him in the darkness. The wind was shrieking outside the shelter hard enough the entire place shuddered lightly. Torian cupped his hand along the curve of her jaw up near her ear so he could rub his thumb along her implant, "I saw it. I fell in love with you then, Kastiel. Only took me another decade or so to know that’s what it was."

Kas softly swiped her lower lip with her tongue. Torian groaned and shifted as her wet sheath tightened around him again. She moaned, "I looked for you. For so damn long, Torian. Because I saw you, too. And I always knew I loved you." He grunted a satisfied sound, pulling her forward until her face was buried against his neck just under his ear. He wrapped her into his arms, holding tightly to his woman as the wind kept up its sad, angry refrain outside.

* * *

 

"Wampas! Do you have any idea how much they friggin' stink? I'd rather bed down with a herd of Wookies for weeks, than to ever again crawl my ass through another cave full of Wampas," Gaibriel bit out the words, his arms crossed over his chest defiantly enough that everyone watching him remembered suddenly he was from the same blood as Kastiel. Gault shot Kastiel a toothy grin, but she was quiet as she watched her little brother.

Then Gaib twisted his head towards the growling Wookie standing behind him and produced the most wry grin. It was such a signature smile, so perfectly unique that everyone watching him couldn’t help but adore the crap out of him. Gaibriel muffled a laugh, "No offense, Bowe. I swear! You guys are just plain cuddly. Although I’m rather more appreciative of Akaavi’s cuddliness. But anyways … Wookiees are nothing like Wampas! Thank the gods. All of ‘em." He waved one gloved hand through the air like he was making an emphatic point, apparently missing the way Akaavi’s eyes narrowed dangerously in his direction. Corso barked a laugh that he muffled when the Mandalorian woman turned her reddened features in his direction and snarled threateningly, “ _You_ call me cuddly, and I’ll break you.”

Corso dropped his gaze down towards the snow-splattered floor under his feet, grunting, “Hey. I was rather glad you yanked us out of there, too. Come on, ‘Kaavi …” It wasn’t exactly fair, he thought. The Captain seemed well able to skirt every line that involved a female. He charmed them utterly and often without even seemingly _trying_. Corso couldn’t quite wrap his head around the phenomenon, actually.

Kastiel grumbled sourly, "How'd you end up in a Wampa cave to begin with?"

"Oh, now there's a story worth telling! Prick of a bastard tossed me in there! And after everything I did for 'im, too! Damned pirate! I'm going to knock his teeth out of his face, I swear! And the fish-head Jedi-wannabe, too!" Gaibriel kicked against the side of the frozen console tumbled in a heap along the broken wall of the downed ship where they were meeting, so that a dull thud sounded through the space. Corso didn't help, either. Not when he chimed in, "Well, now. Captain. You gotta admit we weren’t totally upfront with the pirate. Think the guy had a little right to be pissed off."

"Oh no, don't you start, Corso! That bastard had no clue I was planning on stealing his haul! Nope! He tossed us down there out of the no-called-goodness of his itty-little bit of a heart, and you know it! He got off on being a damn bastard, is all. And that has nothing whatsoever to do with the fish-head who sent us out there, either!"

Kastiel shook her head as she glanced sideways towards Torian. He was leaning negligently against the ragged edge of some piece of a console bent and twisted into a broken pile on the floor of the wrecked ship, as he watched Kastiel’s brother kick up some of the snow that drifted through the holes in the hull. The smuggler had not noticed Kastiel’s agitation, though. Torian wasn’t sure if his own sense of angry upset was the reason. Or if Kastiel was that good at hiding her own bothered anxiousness.

Before he could really decide, Gault leaned close enough to whisper nearby Torian’s ear, "What the fuck happened out there, dammit? Aren't you supposed to keep her from getting shot to pieces?" Gault huffed at him. Torian regarded him solemnly, knowing the man's rudeness came more from concern than anything else.

"Kas wasn't shot."

"What?" Gault almost shouted, clenching his cold fingers so hard against his rifle he thought they'd break off in just one moment. Everyone stopped. Even Gaibriel spun around to consider the devaronian’s angry features. "That's all you have to say about it? That Kas wasn't fucking shot? Well then. Tell me what the fuck happened, that made her lose .. what was it, almost twenty percent blood loss before you got her to a shelter?"

Torian shrugged, "But I did get her to shelter. Medic fixed the damage and replaced the blood. She's well enough, Gault."

"She shouldn't have been shot to begin with!"

Torian looked at him, "Wasn't she _shot_ on Taris while you were supposed to be defending her from Jicoln's sniper fire?"

"Fuck you!"

"No." Torian leaned closer, glaring at Gault, "That would bother Kas, actually. She's possessive."

Gault growled, looking to everyone like he was just shy of launching himself head-long into a physical battle with the Mandalorian. It reminded Kas quite suddenly that the devaronian had spent years of his life fighting the clans. She still wasn't sure he would manage to defeat one in face-to-face combat, though. She was just about to remind him of that, when Gaibriel suddenly threw a chunk of snow-wrapped rock at Torian.

"Are you _fucking_ my sister?"

The entire group turned gaping eyes towards the smuggler captain. He glared back at all of them, refusing to apologize for the utter incongruity of a profligate scoundrel expressing offense towards his sister's lover. He simply bent over to gather a new rock and snow enough to ball it all together.

Risha thumped Gaibriel against the back of his head as he bent over, so hard he actually stumbled forward and dropped the snowball he was putting together. It thumped pitifully against the ground, making a sodden sound when it hit the floor. Akaavi bit her lip to keep from laughing as she grabbed the leathered straps holding the packs onto Gaibriel’s back and pulled him back so he didn’t fall over on top of the lump of snow he dropped on the floor. He growled under his breath, “Damn it.”

But Risha shook her head towards the Zabraak warrior, "You should just let him go. That's a man who needs a good faceplant into the ground every now and then. Trust me."

"He has his uses, Risha," Akaavi disagreed steadily. Gaibriel sighed dramatically loud, like he was putting on a personal show all his own. He glanced towards the broken roof of the shattered ship, wondering what it was about Mandalorians. He looked over at his sister, “You noticed how they say so much with only a few words? Like navigating through space where you can’t see but you still know it’s there. Whatever it is, I mean. They teach that to the little Mandoes, then? Little, toddling Mandoes …” Gaibriel gulped as he caught Akaavi’s gaze, felt his eyes going soft and warm. Akaavi’s lips compressed as she looked back at him. But then Risha sniffed loudly, and Gaib remembered why he almost fell down. He spun back to glare over at Torian again.

Kastiel was prodding a hard, pointed finger into the center of Gault’s chest just then, though, "No, Gault! Torian’s good about carrying me away from shit that blows up around me." Gault glanced over at Torian, watched the way his jaw clenched over the reminder Kastiel lost her mother in an explosion. Gault felt like spitting in disgust then, thinking how hard the explosion must have been for both the Mandalorians, actually. He snorted tiredly, “We don't even know what happened, Kas. Just watched alarms pinging that you were hurt."

Gaibriel was frowning at all of them now. His blue eyes looked like dark crystals narrowed deep into his face. He carefully enunciated towards his sister. Like he was methodically picking words out from a proper Imperial etiquette guide, maybe. "Who hurt you, Kastiel? Where are they? And when can I kick their balls through the tops of their throats?” Gault felt a shiver tingle along his spine, as Gaib suddenly reminded him of his Imperial Agent of a brother. Complete with a sharp weapon tucked just out of sight.

Kastiel sighed, "A damn piece of shrapnel nailed me in the back, is all."

"It was ice, actually,” Torian shrugged as he looked down towards the soft part of Kastiel’s back. The injury didn’t even twinge her anymore. But he didn’t like the memory of her lying there on the snow, bleeding. “It melted fast once it penetrated her back, and made her bleed. Lucky, actually. That Imperial rocket they fired at us might have done more than send a bunch of ice to pepper our backsides. Imperials have terrible aim; they didn’t even hit the Jedi with the _ice_.” Torian shook his head.

Gaibriel pressed his lips together. Watching him via holo, Mako smirked: “Sometimes you look enough like your sister it’s uncanny. You two sure you weren’t designed in a lab? Kastiel gets that same expression on her face all the time.”  But Gaib didn’t even glance at her.

"Let me see if I'm getting this right, then." Gaib just blew out a loud breath, glaring again, "Are you telling me seriously enough, that you were shot by an Imperial rocket? Think you can explain why the Imps were trying to fucking kill you? Oh, and where are they? I mean it. Where?"

Torian grunted, "We found them, out along the road here. They should've hunted for shelter from the storm rather than chase after the Jedi again. She was the one they wanted to kill, not us. They just missed the target. _Jare’la_!” Gaib frowned at him. Until Kastiel shrugged and translated, “Stupid.” She didn’t bother describing how Torian kicked the frozen lump of dead lieutenant as he growled a low curse at the corpse. Why needle her brother’s over-sensitive moral compass?

Gaibriel wagged a finger towards Kastiel, his mouth slowly easing into the smooth grin that shaped his face so normally, "See what I mean? I'm telling you, Kas. I got away from the Empire and it was a good thing. Save your sanity and get loose while you're still able!" But Kastiel didn’t smile back at him. Her eyes were too stark, dark with regret and Torian stepped closer to her, subtly comforting her. Gaib leaned his head to the side, "What? Did something happen?"

"They bought and sold you. Like a dog! I knew that -- you told me so. But you didn't tell me all of it," Kas was close to shaking. Gault wondered if it was agitation or anger that made for her to clench her fingers so hard against her sides. Everyone else was shifting restlessly, as if politely refusing to look at Gaibriel somehow made it all unreal. But Gault was only surprised to finally understand where Kas' little brother spent so much of his growing-up years. He looked at Gaibriel with wide eyes.

"Wait, the Empire? You survived _Imperial_ slavery? To become a captain of your own ship by the time you were just eighteen damn years old?" Gault breathed out an amazed sigh. Then he slanted a grin towards Torian, "I'm telling you. Their daddy must have had balls of fucking iron. Your children are going to change worlds, Cadera. And I'm not even joking." Gaibriel glared over at the Devaronian for a long moment, but Gault smiled widely as he held up his hands in mock surrender.

Gaib turned back to his sister, "Kas, I got away. I grabbed my Freedom's Way and I’ve never looked back. Except for you." He gripped her shoulder, "What's going on?" He leaned down so his gaze aligned with hers and he could look straight into her dark eyes. Gaibriel Duncan wasn’t any sort of fool, no matter how much he played at seeming one. And he understood his sister’s nature far better than most any person ever would, is what he would argue if you challenged him.

Kastiel was _too_ protective. And she proved it, of course: "I should've done bett ..."

Gaibriel hissed at her, lifting his head in a sharp, explosive movement that sent his bangs flying back from out of his eyes. He grabbed her by both shoulders and shook her, "Don't ever say that again! Not to me; not to _anyone_! Don't!” Gaib chopped the air with one hand when she opened her mouth to argue with him, “No! You were six! Six! I ran and hid while they picked you up around the damned throat and shook you hard enough I’m still surprised your neck wasn’t broken. And all I did was fucking watch!"

Kas’s eyes narrowed slowly as she watched her brother’s blue-eyed gaze on her, “You only did what you were supposed to do. But this isn’t about me, or about that day. It's Camiel, Gaib. What happened to _Cam_? What did they do to her?”

Gaibriel froze. He stared at Kastiel for a long moment, before his blue, blue eyes darted towards the others. He shook his head, “No. Family, Kas. Just family.” Kastiel nodded. She waved her hand and ignored Gault’s groan as everyone stepped to move away from them. But Kastiel reached out to touch Torian’s elbow as he started moving around her. Gaibriel canted his head when she stopped Torian, held onto him.

Gaibriel sighed, “He’s that much important, huh?” Kastiel lifted her chin towards Akaavi, who didn’t even bother stepping off to follow the others. Kas murmured, “I wasn’t able to let go of my Mandalorian, either. No matter how many years passed. And you’re _my_ brother. That pretty lady who gussies up your engines isn’t the one you sing to me about.”

Gaib scoffed, “I don’t sing.” He held up his hand then, “And don’t you dare mimic me, either. That’s just plain embarrassing.” Akaavi quirked her eyebrow towards the smuggler, and he noticed the subtle curl of the corner of her mouth. She _liked_ to know he cared that much. He only shrugged, because _he_ liked pleasing her.

Kastiel gestured, “We’re family, Gaib. So now. Camiel?”

He twitched and then he sighed, “They ripped her away from me. I tried, Kas. Tried holding tight as I could to her. But some fancy-assed Imperial diplomat bought her and carried her off. He … hurt her.” Kastiel inhaled deeply, staring over at him as Torian went even more stiff and straight next to her. Gaibriel was only looking over at nothing, at the walls of the broken ship and the drips of ice water down along the metal lines, “I couldn’t stop it. She hates me, Kas. It’s why I can’t find her … like a blank wall in my head.”

Torian jerked his head in Gaibriel’s direction, shaking it back and forth just once. Emphatically, “She’s a Jedi. A good one, from what we saw. So it isn’t hate. She doesn’t _remember_ you, Gaibriel.” Gaib felt the blood draining from out of his face, leeching the color until he stood there looking about as white as the snow on the floor.

“What did you say?” Gaibriel slowly shifted his head around to look towards Kastiel again. His chest felt tighter, tighter, and he bent over to catch the air into his lungs again. Kas reached for him but Akaavi gripped him first and harder. The zabrak woman pulled him up, so that his back was pressed hard all along her own armored front. She held the hard palm of her hand into the center of his chest, murmuring low sounds and _mando’a_ words against his ear as she propped her chin onto his shoulder. Kastiel’s fingers clenched into fists as she watched them, but Torian only pressed himself against her.

All four of them stood there, leaning onto each other. Gaibriel’s hand shot up then and he grabbed onto Kas’ gloved fingers to hold her tightly. He looked at her, his eyes glittering like ocean-blue gems and he told her, “I thought I lost you but I got you back. Now we’ll get Cam, too. And _then_ we’ll fix whatever bastard thinks he can hurt our brother. We’re not alone anymore, Kas. _I’m_ not alone.”

Kastiel’s chin went up and Torian nodded. He muttered a mando’a phrase that had Akaavi grunting in agreement, “ _Ke nu’jurkadir sha Mando’ade_.” But Gaibriel frowned in confusion. Kastiel translated for him, “Don’t mess with Mandalorians.”

Gaibriel snorted softly. “See? And I didn’t even have to get adopted first. They just love me.”

Akaavi growled at him, “That’s debatable.” But Gaib grinned as he leaned back harder against Akaavi’s chest. He drew in a breath, “Oh, I’m looking forward to debating it. Tonight.”


	78. Just the Best Day

Khyriel moved fast, until he looked more like a blur of color and substance than a real person. It ruined the smoothly running hum of his generator, effectively breaking the stealth he was maintaining. But he managed to grapple the man’s collar into one solid fisted hold, dragging him backwards and off-balance. The fellow stumbled hard, falling against Khyriel’s own body so that his horn dug sharply into the agent’s shoulder.

Khyriel grunted unhappily and slapped Gault roughly over his red-skinned ear. Gault grumbled from the pain, leaning his head sideways as his ear smarted painfully, "Ah, come on. There’s no need to get all mean on me! Try beating on someone who didn't just save your fucking ass, maybe. Sheesh."

"I did not need -- or even _want_ your help, devaronian. Who are you?” Khyriel tried bumping him loose from his shoulder. But Gault only grinned up at him from his hunched-over position.

Not that Gault was over-stupid. He kept his rifle in plain view, with the barrel pointed downwards even as he bent Khyriel a loopy smile. Dramatically non-threatening, and he chuckled, "Hey. It sure looked like you needed some ass-saving, anyway. That hoity-toity Admiral dude would've killed you; left you sure and spitting dead right there on the floor. Did you know they call this area a Graveyard?" Gault waved his arm in a wide arc, to encompass the entire length of broken ship beyond where they were huddled behind broken machinery. Then he sniffed delicately, preening as he rubbed his fingernails against the leathered edges of his chest armor like he was cleaning imaginary dirt off them, "Except now that I lobbed a nice bolt into his brain – well, now _he's_ the one lying all cold and dead back there instead. Your own pretty ass gets to gallivant off to …well, wherever it is we're going next, huh?"

Khyriel snarled into Gault's face. Gault kept the absurd smile pasted on his face, gamely trying to hide the real, frightened concern that knotted his stomach as he looked back at Khyriel. The agent’s dark eyes were shadowed with wide, gray circles and narrowed over strained lines. Deep brown eyes, so much like his sister’s right after she woke from those damned awful night terrors that kept her from sleeping for days at a time. Like his soul was being eaten away and he felt like _everything_ was only breaking into shattered pieces.

Gault wanted to shoot someone in the face again, actually. Preferably whatever bastard put that pain on her brother’s face, mind you.

But it also kept Gault from being truly angry when Khyriel took to shaking him roughly, holding tight to Gault’s jacket as he shook him back and forth. Khyriel growled at him in frustration, "Tell Kothe he doesn't have to do anything more than spit his stinking command words at me. I don’t need any damned watchers!"

Gault's gaze sharpened immediately. So that the pantomimed hilarity disappeared like it was never real at all, and Gault narrowed his eyes like Khyriel’s face was a beacon for him to home upon. Khyriel frowned as the devaronian stared at him intentfully. Gault barked out, "Kothe? That’s him? That’s the name of the son of a bitch who did this to you?" Khyriel slowly blinked, his forehead furrowed in careful, precise thought as he took in the unfeigned and unfettered focus of Gault’s probing curiosity.

The devaronian really didn’t recognize the name, didn’t seem to know anything of Kothe. But then, how had he known of Khyriel? Who set him to following after him? He himself wasn’t strange to the man. His own name was familiar, the details of his motions were readily known enough he could stay utterly close. And Khyriel didn’t like the mystery.

Because if the Devaronian wasn't acting on Kothe's behalf, then who was really directing him? And more important – why?

Khy’s head began throbbing again. This new threat wasn’t one he anticipated, and he felt even more off-balance. Exactly when he couldn’t afford anymore enemies. Not when he was so broken already. Khyriel thought fast. But he suddenly felt the slow drip of blood from his nose, the droplets that trickled down onto his upper lip. Gault cursed angrily, glancing sideways towards the larger room where the bug man was manipulating that little spy from the Chiss.

Not fair, Gault thought. He certainly never asked for the Mandalorians to chase him down on Tatooine. Why the hells was he stuck protecting them now? Or was it only funny, that to fight for the Mandalorians he had to chase after fucking Imperial agents and then turn around to save funny smuggler captains, too. And at pretty much the same time, sometimes.

But seriously. Gault was furious watching Khyriel bleed like that. Not that _Khyriel_ seemed over-bothered. He didn’t even wipe the blood off from his lip, just shook his head slowly as he kept right on considering Gault with methodical seriousness. Like there wasn’t pain ripping through his head or distress tightening his every feature into stiff, board-like precision. Gault wanted to crow the truth towards the man, tell him how much like his sister he looked right then. How determined and focused he was, and to hells with whatever was standing in the way – “ _I’ve been guarding him since he was newborn and my father told me to watch out for him. Do you understand me, Gault_?” Oh yea, Gault understood. That Kastiel would definitely hurt him, long before her little brother managed it.

Now Khyriel tensed into single-minded intention. But Gault smiled at him again, amusedly remarking, "I like you, Khyriel Phyre. Really, I do. But I can’t let you cut me with any blades today. Even if the stress relief would help you. Hey, maybe next time. Or we can set a date. But today I have things to get done, orders to obey, directions to follow … You understand.” Khyriel bent his head to glower even harder as the devaronian kept on babbling. He could feel the last slips on his patience dwindling away. Except then Gault’s eyes darted to a spot over Khy’s shoulder, and he so subtly nodded to _someone else_.

Khyriel cursed and tried to push Gault away, to turn and face yet another threat. But he was too late, reacted too slow. Damn them! And the burning hiss of a stim spraying against his back blared through his senses before he could move.

Khy stumbled. He fell against the devaronian in a sorry, pitiful heap, and he moaned. Gault held him so he didn’t tumble down onto the sodden floor in a pile of dead weight, and grumbled over the top of Khyriel’s dark head towards the person that managed the attack, "Watch it, girl! She was pretty adamant he not get hurt along the way. That female will lop off my good horn if I let anything even fucking bruise him! Damn it, grab his legs." Khy tried speaking, to say something or threaten them.

But his vocal cords remained pitifully paralyzed. Whatever drug they pressed into his back made him limp and quiet as they manhandled him even further into the alcove, back into the dark where Vector and Temple wouldn’t be able to see them. Khyriel felt slender hands grabbing him around the legs, so the both of them could lift and carry him out of sight.

He couldn't move; he couldn't yell and rail at them. He only listened, watching. And he seethed silently as he waited for them to finish whatever it was they intended.

Then Khyriel heard a feminine voice, dark and sultry-sounding. And a beautiful-looking woman leaned over him where he was laying against the cold metal flooring of the ship's deck plating. She was brusque as she looked down at him, her gaze flaring with interest as she took in his dark features. He wasn't certain, exactly, what it was she was trying to find in the angular shape of his face, the turn of his nearly-black eyes, or the sweaty tendrils of his black hair freezing into clumps against his neck. Whatever it was, though – the woman’s light-brown eyes flared with fascination as she looked down at him and chewed on her pretty lip.

"Don't say it," the devaronian reached out to poke the woman against her side. She glared back at him as she softly rubbed her side where he’d prodded. Khyriel decided the bitter anger on her face was reason enough to keep from killing her when he finally got up off the floor. If only because that's precisely how he felt about the devaronian just then, too. Well, that, and she was just pretty enough to play with beforehand, too.

Gault was muttering as he knelt down and swept his hand down Khyriel’s frame, looking for the seam of his leathered chest armor. Gault told her, "He’ll remember everything. Word for word, like it’s a holovid in his computer-for-a-brain." Khyriel wanted to slice the man’s fingers off one by one, just to get to the truth of the thing. Because how could he know such a thing. Only the most hidden reports from Imperial Intelligence knew that much about him, anyway.

Or maybe his own sister. But Lusiel would die before betraying him.

"Fast. His people will come looking for him soon enough.” The woman’s hair was pulled back into a styled bun that lined the nape of her neck. She examined Khyriel’s entire figure, her gaze sweeping up and down his body as he lay there prone along the floor. Like she was drinking in every turn and angle of his frame. Then she lifted up her chin, turning her face to look over at Gault so Khyriel was able to stare up towards the pretty curl of her up-thrust jaw. Khyriel would’ve leaned upwards to swipe his tongue along her chin if he could move at all – but he remained frozen there on the floor. Damn them both! She was murmuring over at Gault, then, "You have to admit, though. He looks like …" Khyriel’s attention focused.

"Shut up. I’m serious about his memory,” the devaronian shook his horned head over Khyriel’s limp form towards the woman, disapproval tightening his features. “Here, loose the buckles under his arm so I can get at his back." Gault leaned forward, briefly blocking Khyriel’s view of the woman. But he felt her slim fingers twirling along his side then and he mentally sighed, thinking it was one of the few times a woman worked at undressing him when he could take no advantage. The loss of control was more than galling; it offended Khyriel hard enough he wanted to snarl and grind his teeth. But that much ability was denied to him.

Then the woman sighed with keen attraction, and Khyriel considered her again. Her face bent into his view and he eyed her with the most narrow interest. But Gault was chuckling, “He can’t get hard enough to suit you just now, girl. Or do you plan on explaining why you stuck around to moon over Khyriel’s downed figure stretched out on the floor?”

The woman’s gaze shifted to the devaronian, and she grumbled with snide curiosity, “What, do you think he’ll be jealous?” Gault chuckled quietly.

“That one? Nah! He sees babies when he looks at that zabrak female. You’re shit out of luck.” Gault sighed as he glanced down at the agent lying silently on the floor, shaking his head. He lifted Khyriel’s limp arm carefully, pulling him up slightly enough to reach under him with a slender stim. Gault murmured to her, aside, “Be careful. Don’t go making a game out of Khyriel’s attentions … Only thing sharper than his wit, is the blade he keeps tucked within reach. Just go check to see if Bug Boy’s noticed anything out of hand just yet.”

Khyriel listened as the woman climbed huffily back to her feet and stomped out of his line of sight – quietly stomped but stomped away, nonetheless. He smiled to himself as he considered how he would enjoy finding the woman eventually. And the damn devil prodding against his shoulder seemed to know it, too.

Gault hummed quietly with amusement. Khyriel heard the loud hiss of an injector, and he thought he might have twitched in real agitation if he had the chance. Their intentions were so much murky things. He couldn’t see, couldn’t discern what they wanted from him. What were they hoping to accomplish with this brief gambit? To monitor, or know him? To manipulate his secrets even more? Killing him obviously wasn’t their plan. But then, that would be too simple or too easy.

Then the devaronian leaned back around, so that his smiling, red face was directly in Khyriel’s line of sight again. “I can see you trying to figure all this out. But it’s too soon for that. So here’s the deal, agent." Gault leaned close enough that Khyriel could see every splotch of color on his red, devaronian face. Then he canted his head only slightly, so that Khyriel could see every chip in his broken horn, every single line and wrinkle that marked his face, and every small feature that would make Gault memorable. Because he damned well knew Khyriel would go looking for him once this entire debacle was done.

He’d look. He’d push his way through all those bits and pieces of information he could lay his fingers on. And eventually he would find his sister. If it were up to him, Gault thought it would be right easy to just tell him while he was laying there on the floor. But Kastiel was adamant they all needed more time. So eventually … “I’m not here to hurt you. Those were the words, mind you. I was told, that if I hurt you I’d lose my good horn. Seriously, mind you. Nope, whoever’s using you is on my employer’s shit-list, actually. Now, you can certainly get bent out of shape over today's events if you want. I don't really give a shit."

Gault glanced over towards Risha, where she was standing nearby the door. He sent her a brief whistle, and heard her soft grunted reply. Risha kicked as hard as she could against the frozen railing of bent, twisted scrap metal lining the wall. At least her boots were thick, solid things that kept her toes from breaking from the impact. Especially when she kicked it again, and again until the metal structure snapped from the forceful blows and all of it came tumbling down in a loud, terrible racket of sound that boomed throughout the wreck of a ship.

Gault grunted thickly, leaning down close to Khyriel’s ear, "I was supposed to tell you. Just tell you, that you’re not alone anymore. They’ll break your enemies to fucking pieces." Gault argued with Kastiel, telling her Khyriel needed to understand. He depended on knowing every step that he made was correct. But Kas stared starkly over Gault’s head as she remembered … something, “ _Gaib could anticipate the danger. But not Camiel, not yet. She doesn’t remember us, Gault_. _We need more time._ ” It only offended Gault, thinking how Khyriel’s pain was buying his siblings more security, more safety for just a little longer. And he didn’t even know it.  

Khyriel could only lay there frozen, watching as the brown-haired woman casually trotted back towards Gault. She looked down at the agent’s stiff, frozen form lying there and sighed resignedly, "It’s just too bad." Gault snorted and grabbed her elbow as he gestured towards the nearby hallway leading out of the starship. They started moving away so that their feet made low thudding falls against the floor. Khyriel listened to them going, and he smiled to himself as they kept on arguing with each other.

Gault was muttering as he watched his step across the cold, wet floor of the downed ship, "Don’t think you need to worry. Pretty sure Khyriel will come looking for you, and you’ll get the chance to really handle that pizzle in his pants. Until then … hey, I've got nothing on my list of things to do tonight! Want to enjoy a drink at the cantina?"

"Since we can hardly visit the same cantinas I'm not sure that's even a plausible scenario,” the woman countered. “Plus I don’t want you anywhere near my naked form. No matter how drunk you manage to get me."

"Oh you cruel, vicious little creature. You should introduce yourself to Khyriel's little Rattataki. She's just as mean. But she did sleep with me!"

"She has poor taste."

"She slept with Khyriel, too!"

"I'll wager real money she slept with him first, however."

"Are you saying I'm second-rate?"

"Me? No way I would ever say that."

"My heart's bleeding here, kid you not."

"Oh, good. Something positive from today's adventure."

* * *

 

Of course the pirates would hunker down in yet another broken-down ship in this frozen, blank-faced junkyard of a world, Kastiel thought. She snorted softly towards the Abyssin pirate when he sneered at her now. If only because _she_ wasn’t the one hiding in a popsicle of a place.

"Kren, you may want to wrap something around those pointy ears of yours. They're trembling. Since I'm nice like that, I'll assume it's the cold and not complete and utter fear that's making them do that," Kastiel shrugged when the pirate’s green splotchy skin darkned into a more mottled complexion. She bent him a lopsided smile that wasn’t really a smile at all: "Hoth is a far cry from Byss, huh? Should've gone home long before now, maybe."

Kren growled at her in that strange earthy tone so much common to his species. Kastiel found it a particularly discomfiting language, enough she'd avoided learning how to replicate it. She banked on the man understanding Basic, though. Just the way she wagered he was plain ignorant of the fact she could understand every word he crooned towards her, translator or not. Kren bit out, "If you think I'll be as easy as those targets you made of Ayor and Gradak, you're more a fool than I thought."

Kastiel barked an amused sound, "Good to hear you White Maw types have been telling stories about me. It’s precisely why I gunned down those two and as many of their lousy pirate buddies following along with them, too."

Torian grunted, "We didn't shoot Gradak."

"True,” Kastiel shrugged. “I don’t know, Kren. I think it’s particularly ironic, that some Advose could make it all the way to Hoth before losing his horn in a friggin’ pool of lava. Lava! Would’ve assumed the cold would kill him far quicker than the heat, here." Kastiel nodded contemplatively, "Which brings us back to your pointy ears. You'll lose the tips to frostbite if you leave them shivering in the cold, Kren."

She watched the man as he started to reach up towards his ears. He suddenly huffed, though, dropping his long arms in what seemed to be a fit of temper. He chopped the air with the palm of his hand, "Enough! My ears are no concern of yours!"

"Hey. I'm just trying to help. No need to get all riled up over nothing," Kas smiled lightly as Torian shifted, standing there along her side so their shoulders just barely brushed up against each other's. "Regardless. I'm here to offer you a Blooding."

Ki-ta Kren's big one eye widened as he considered the Mandalorian woman standing there in front of him.

As a rule, humans didn’t generally concern themselves with his people’s customs. Most of them were at least blithely ignorant, and the Empire seemed to nearly sneer at anyone who couldn’t claim at least a single drop of Sith blood. So they never described respect for those cultures outside their own. But this female defied all those expectations, as she stood there calmly waiting for him.

Kren felt singularly off-balance. Because if he misjudged her so much already, what other layers could she claim that would be equally disconcerting? Unease slithered coldly down the length of his curved spine, even as his single eye meandered a long gaze up and down her frame. She looked like any other ordinary Mandalorian, like every other one of those hunters intent on the next great bounty or target. And her male complimented her neatly, like they were a matched pairing. A cohesive fighting unit, that only belonged together. And never mind the disparate colors swiped across their fighting armors, with hers more green than his own yellow pieces. Not that her armor was anything but well-cared for, either. Mandalorians practically lived in their armors, he had heard. But he would have only called her another ordinary, typical human fighter.

Until she challenged him. Kren warbled at her, "You only heard stories of my blooding with Vause, then."

"Figured that's what it was, when it was described to me," she responded. Kren wondered what her voice would sound like if the faceplate that covered her features was taken away. But humans were typically pale ugly little creatures. And their dual eyed stare was unnerving, too. He was rather glad to have this conversation around face coverings. Especially when she leaned against a single booted foot and crossed her arms over her chest, her voice hardening as she demanded him, "I’m doubting Vause himself understood the ritual when he fought you. But I’m not that much a fool, so don’t make the mistake of judging me like I’m just another bigheaded yellow lizard. _I_ don't offer a blooding without appreciating it for what it is."

Kren frowned, "Vause is a strong fighter."

"I'm pretty sure he's quite capable of bashing himself against big nasty opponents, yea. Doesn't change his utter lack of real intelligence." She glanced around at the other pirates gathered together in the open space, all of them working so hard to secure the cannons on the large derelict. Preferably before the Empire or Republic soldiers figured out what they were doing, probably. If they did, this entire wreck of a starship would become one big blazing target. From orbit, no less. "If he was anything other than stupid, he would've met me head-on back when I introduced myself. Instead, I've swept through White Maw ranks, decimated your secret hidey-holes, and even killed two of your toughest captains. And here I stand, ready to kill _you_ now. But I won’t call him coward … No. He’s just stupid.” Mumbles rumbled through the place and Kas smiled behind her faceplate. No pirate she ever knew was pleased being a hunt’s target, and being bait was even worse.

Kren growled at her, "You’re human, and weak. Do you really think you can kill me?"

She waved a gloved hand through the air, blandly unconcerned, "I’ve worked over more than one  Abyssin. Sith masters like making them into pets, and trust me. I know what it takes to kill someone who heals that fast – I just hit them faster. And in more places. Any Abyssin who bleeds enough will die before long." She shrugged one slim armored shoulder. "Or you can accept the blooding I offer and I'll just beat on you a while instead. You choose.”

Kren felt the tips of his ears tremble again. He looked at her eyes, the brown orbs that only glimmered with confident understanding. He wouldn’t catch her off-guard, wouldn’t take her balance from her. She stood there, straight and firm, and he trembled.

He wished he could say it was the cold.

* * *

_"What do you think it means to be brave, Kas?"_

_"Why do you ask?"_

_"Not sure you see yourself the way that I do."_

_"What do you see when you look at me, then, hmm?"_

_"Bravery. Even when you were small and scared and protecting your_ aliit _. You were brave; it was the most beautiful thing I ever watched. I thought you were_ vod _, because you were that brave. Then I thought we should make you one of us."_

_"You wanted me to become your sister?"_

_"I was five. Took time for me to grow big enough to know what I really wanted."_

_"So all you see is how brave I am?"_

_"Not all I see, no."_

_"What else do you see?"_

_"Are you looking for sweet words? Or trying to hide from my question?"_

_"Both, of course."_

_"Why do you hide?"_

_"Because I don't see how it's brave. I’m only doing what needs to be done."_

_"Even when doing it threatens yourself?"_

_"Maybe they should just avoid threatening me. Then I won’t do anything to them."_

_"You don’t stop, though. Or hesitate. You don’t even hang your head, or cry for it. You only finish it. You’re brave enough."_

_"I keep screwing it all up, Tor."_

_"You've succeeded more than not."_

_"Tell that to my parents, my brothers. Hell, tell that to my sisters. Both of them! Tell that to Braden, and to Anuli. So many people who counted on me and got hurt. Or worse, got dead."_

_"I’ll show you. Before we’re done, you’ll see."_

_"Let's talk about what else you see."_

_“Rather show you than talk about it.”_

_"Incentive to finish this_ faster _, then."_

* * *

At least he didn't strut inside the room, like he was one of those crazy birds with the fanning tails. All color and show, instead of substance.

Of course, Vause would have called it bravery, the way he faced her. He was certainly big enough. He loomed over her slender frame there in the center of the frozen derelict. She glanced around the wide open space he called a theatre, with all its piles of snow inching through the gaping holes in the shattered hull of the starship. A theatre – a place set apart for him to make a show.

Because that's what Vause wanted to give these pitiful pirate dregs that followed him. Just a show, some dramatic thing that proved he was undefeated and so much capable. He even hissed it towards her, declared his intention, "My Jagganath is great. The Scorekeeper knows me, knows my worth. I will break you into pieces, so you see what she knows. That noone can defeat me."

But Kastiel didn't hesitate. She didn't even stop. Maybe … she didn't know how.

She only lashed out with one single hard fist. She sent her own curled fist reaching out for the the Trandoshan's yellow, scaly face. It was the first punch. It caught Vause along the left side of his face and neatly broke the blood vessels under his skin. That first bruise bloomed brilliantly fast into a bright orange circle just under his eye, with the flesh swelling into obviously throbbing distress.

Vause’s head dropped back on his thick neck, and he grunted in terrible surprise. But he still stumbled backwards only slightly. He tried to snarl threats towards her, but Kastiel was speaking and none of the pirates gathered into a semi-circle there in that wide space inside the wrecked starship -- none of them was able to hear anything else but the strong words she said to him: "You speak of your god like you stand alongside her. Which is just such shit, Vause. You're no god. Hell, I wouldn't even call you a leader. Not if you're so quick to let your enemies destroy every one of the men who follow you."

Behind her, Torian smiled. He watched _her_ , of course. The way he loved to watch her; sliding his gaze against the curves and twists her body made as she flowed there through the battle she made with Reneget Vause. The big Trandoshan tried using his size and his strength to bear down against her, but every effort he made was futile. Kastiel was only quicker, always dancing just out of his reach. She made no mockery of him and she didn't taunt him. Even when it became apparent she was wearing him down, slowly whittling away at his ability to fight.

She was showing just who his Scorekeeper really favored today. Showing how hard the mighty can fall, can badly they can break. And Vause became more and more desperate. Especially when Kastiel continued to rely on her fists, not her blasters as she kept on fighting. She made it obvious she was intent on taking him down. Not killing him.

Kastiel was going to _capture_ the Trandoshan.

She kicked out at him. Hard. The crack of one of Vause’s bones breaking rippled through the air, and he growled loudly as his ankle became so much useless and he could only stumble after her circling him in the center of the room. She grabbed his hand and twisted roughly, quick and fast and another cracking sound echoed after the first. Then Kas began pummeling her opponent in the face and down along his broad torso; breaking ribs, shattering teeth, bruising yellow scales until he was mottled orange-red.

Vause leaned his head down to angrily spit some bloody teeth-filled phlegm towards the floor. He roared out his frustration, yelling at her, "Why don't you just stand there and die the way you're supposed to?"

Kastiel stopped, and she stared at him. She was panting softly, with sweat dampening her temple and the sides of her face behind her helmet. She leaned her head to the side, glancing over towards Torian. He hadn't moved, only stood there as patient as he always was. Like he'd never doubted for a single moment the fight would end any different. Like he _believed_ in her. Always believed. Then she looked back at the lizard man, shaking her head, "Because I have things to do before I die. And you're in the way."

Vause knelt there, aching and holding his broken arm against his sore, bruised abdomen. He grunted, "Then finish me. Don't give them what they want."

Kastiel stepped closer, clenching her fingers into a tight steely fist. Torian knew what she was thinking right then, that there was no honor in taking from someone smaller, or weaker than you. It’s what she explained as they stood waiting for Vause to respond to Kren's low song of defeat over the holo, " _You don't do it. You don't accept anyone's loyalty as a given. You damn well earn it. When you fail them, when you break your word to them -- well, then. You get the exact same, in turn_." Kas had promised a small Jawa she'd punish Vause. She intended to keep that promise.

Her fist flew, pounding against the side of his face with several loud cracking noises. Vause collapsed into a groaning heap against the cold snow-strewn floor, utterly broken. She raised her chin, gesturing towards Torian and watching as he glided forward, setting his knee into the Trandoshan's lower back. Vause whimpered through the blood that filled his mouth, "No ... No!" But the Mandalorian trussed Vause neatly tight, winding ropes into place around his wrists and ankles until he was utterly immobile.

Kastiel glowered towards Kren, then, who suddenly raised his hands up defensively, "You're brother to me, human. Like Vause is. I will not fight you anymore." The Abyssin lowered his chin, ignoring the burning pain that smarted against the torn ends of his ears. Excuse to wrap them up, is what she'd said when she ripped against them.

Now Kren backed away from her slowly, leaving Vause there to become her prize, her trophy. Kastiel watched him go, the small crowd of stunned pirates rushing around him towards the long door at the end of the yawning space. Torian climbed back to his feet, watching her as he thought of her ferocious offense over such a tiny Jawa.

She would fight harder than anything for their own sons, he thought suddenly. For daughters, too. And Torian suddenly gasped, as he slowly, deliberately settled his gaze against the flat armored plates that covered Kastiel’s pretty little belly. He imagined it round and full, and ached with sudden want, became taut and hard in a sudden rush of desire.

Corridan’s recent message was a call for help, and he needed to go and fight with him and with his brothers. But first ... Torian felt his chest tighten, watching Kastiel's slim muscled form curl around until she faced him. He remembered all the warriors who bragged and swore they would offer her their clan name. He wanted her to take his own, though.

Torian watched her moving towards Vause's broken body, listened to her calling into her commlink for Gault, "You finished shielding my brother yet? Good, then. Meet up where we said. We’re done, here."

* * *

Blizz smiled gleefully as the two big men dragged the old Boss into the barred cage across from him. The yellow-haired human grunted towards the other one, the one that had a single pointed horn against the side of his red-skinned forehead and a jagged, broken-edged horn that mirrored it on the other side. The Devaronian man was talking, "So did Kas leave a square inch on the 'Doshan's body un-broken? Sheesh, he's like one great big squash-colored bruise. Which is impressive, considering he's got such pretty yellow scales, not skin. What'd he do to piss her off?"

Torian shrugged, "She wasn’t pissed. Just thought he needed a punishment. For the Jawa."

Gault looked in the direction Torian gestured. He gaped at Blizz, "How the fuck did a Jawa get to Hoth? And how does it manage to stink so much surrounded by all this cold wet snow, by the way?"

"Followed a crew off-world," Torian canted his head to the side as he considered Gault's expression. "You have a problem with Jawas?"

Gault grumbled, "Anyone's who's ever tried selling speeders on Tattooine would have a problem with Jawas. Trust me. They'll steal a deal right out from under your damn feet. It's frustrating beyond all measure."

Torian grinned at him. It would be nearly as entertaining as the monkey-lizard, he thought. Aloud, he just grunted, "You might want to get used to this one, though. Kas is bringing it along."

Gault's jaw dropped. "No! No, no, no! Where is she? She’s talking to the Chiss? Right now? No way! Kas! Kastiel!" Gault turned and rushed out of the cell block, ignoring the Chiss guards as he went. Blizz stared after him for a long moment. Then he turned to regard the human warrior, all wrapped up in tough, intricately-wired armor. He chittered happily at the protective stance the warrior made towards the nearby guards, who dropped away from their regular entertainment that involved prodding him with bright, burning sticks through the bars of the cage around him.

Blizz looked over at the bleeding, groaning figure of Reneget Vause on the floor in the next cage, and he smiled brightly, "Best day ever!"


	79. My Clan Name

Kastiel snorted as she stumbled over another cargo container in the lower hold. She snapped her head around to glare angrily towards the ship droid. Two actually clanged as it began trembling and shaking from the force of her glaring attention. Kas wondered only vaguely what compelled that little cretin of a Neimoidian who once owned the droid – she decided to "forget" he owned her Bad Boy once upon a time, too – but why did he program the droid with such inanely stupid habits as shaking every time a person paid it attention, mind you.

It was damned annoying, the way Two constantly apologized and begged her to not destroy it. Which is precisely what the droid proceeded to do, as it stood there shaking in front of her now, "I'm so sorry, master! Please don't deactivate me!"

Kas sighed as she subtly rubbed her aching toe along the back of her calf, "Just shut up, Two, gods. Seriously, if I haven't deactivated you by now, what the fuck makes you think I'm going to do it this time?" She glanced around at the tumble of cargo containers there in the hold. "Where did all this shit come from, by the way?"

"Mistress Mako was under the impression space needed to be made for the newest crew member apart from our regular crew quarters. Something about ‘Jawa hygiene habits', she said. I have dutifully cleared a nearby closet. I hope I acted appropriately."

Kastiel waved her hand, "No, no. She's got a point. Gault's already throwing hissy fits about Blizz. But make sure it’s comfortable enough before Blizz makes the space his own." Two warbled several obsequious assurances while Kas shoved against the containers, manhandling them into better positions against the walls. The droid continued its diatribe, though, until the damn thing sounded like a broken recording that skipped in an endless loop against the background of her consideration.

Her patience finally snapped from the strain, "Two, just shut the fuck up! Look … go stand there against the wall. Sleep mode -- for two hours at least. Please!" Kas shoved her hair out of her eyes as she straightened and watched the droid stumbling over itself to comply. She sighed with exasperation, "I'm so going to reprogram you … gods. You damned annoying piece of junk."

Torian's step on the nearby stairwell snagged her attention then, and she turned towards him, smiling when she saw his blonde head ducking down over the railing so he could find her. He grumbled with amusement when he caught sight of her, "Still can't sneak up on you, Kas."

Kastiel smirked at him, "Then why do you keep trying?"

"I wanted to surprise you." Torian stopped on the bottom step, waving towards her as a small nervous grin tweaked his mouth. Kastiel canted her head in his direction and pattered towards him, wondering what was sparking his playfulness. But then her hair fell back into her face again. Kas huffed an exaggerated sound of annoyance as she pushed it back. Torian smiled, "Do you need to cut it again?"

"It's driving me out of my mind! Or that might be the droid, I don't know. Both, probably." She finally reached around, dragging her hair into a rough tail against the back of her head and securing it with a banded tie just as she reached him. Torian murmured an agreeable sound as the motion exposed the curve of implants tucked into the soft flesh of her ears. He reached out to touch against one of them, curling the tip of his finger along the sensitive skin of her ear, there, "You’re so pretty, Kas."

Her lips parted as she glanced up into his eyes, the pleasure of the compliment sliding through her even as her nose twitched in disagreement, "Maybe I'm not the only one who's out of their mind, hmmm?" She dropped her gaze to consider him standing there, taking in his trim form perched there on the stair.

Both of them were dressed casually while the armors they maintained were settled along the length of the workbench in various states of cleaning and repair. It's why it was Torian's bare hand that wrapped snugly around her wrist as he lead her up the stairs, stepping quietly in the soft boots that covered his feet. Kastiel hummed as she regarded the twist of his lean hips in the dark brown trousers he was wearing, ignoring the chuckle he sent her as they went up into the main living space of the ship.

Torian smiled over his shoulder, "Stop it, Kas. Keep it up, and we'll never manage to eat first." He guided Kastiel towards the galley table.

The ship was quiet, especially now that Two had powered down. Gault had taken Blizz off on an adventure. At least that’s what he called it. She'd heard him muttering something about a bath as the small Jawa tumbled along beside him when they went out the airlock doors together. Mako bounced through the airlock only a short time afterwards, intent on nabbing some materials Corso couldn’t obtain in Republic space. Corso’s ability to manipulate blaster tech was unmatched, she insisted. Kas only waved towards her back as Mako went out the airlock doors.

"As long as we can take advantage of the quiet while it lasts, huh?" Kas stopped then, staring as she regarded the tantalizing smells coming from the dishes set into place, "What is that? It smells incredible." Kastiel inhaled slowly as her taste buds sparkled into attention.

Torian waved his hand towards the dishes on the table, "It’s called _tiingilar_. Made it for you. I wasn't sure if you tried it before. It's one of my favorites, with good _hetikles_." Torian watched as Kas scrambled to take a seat against the table, reaching happily for a plate. She didn't even hesitate as she leaned over the dish to appreciate the scent, sniffing loudly before turning to Torian with a single dark eyebrow raised up.

He hummed with growing desire, of course. Mako practically ran towards the stairs when Torian was cooking the meal. But _his_ hunter? Kastiel met the experience as boldly as she did everything, stopping only long enough to silently ask him to join her. Beautiful woman.

Kastiel smiled as Torian settled down next to her, pressing close enough his body heat reached out to tease against her senses. He handed her a dish piled with richly spiced meat and vegetables. She muttered, " _Tiingilar_. No, I've never tried it before. But I did hear some of the warriors talking about it once, nearby the Enclave. They'd challenged one of the Imperial soldiers to try it and laughed when he called for medical help after. I thought it was a game they were talking about at first, like a challenge of some sort."

He looked at her with curiosity, one of his blonde eyebrows bent upwards over his eye, "You were near enough to the Enclave?"

Kastiel nodded as she savored her meal, moaning in pleasure at the spicy kick of the food against the back of her throat. The tingling sensation along the roof of her mouth was intensely satisfying, and she enjoyed the feeling. She waved the air with her fork, "I spent a lot of time there, watching the warriors coming and going. Just looking. Tobie would groan about it, used to say he always knew where to find me whenever it was I went missing. Just about spanked my ass when I followed some of the hunters into the jungles outside the city, though." She leaned back against the bench, sighing happily as she chewed, "This is so good."

Torian leaned closer, nuzzling against her temple as he basked again in the pleasant knowing she kept looking for him. He adored the way she always wanted him, the way that she needed him. He murmured to her softly, "They say any woman who can survive a plate of _tiingilar_ is a keeper."

Kastiel turned to face him fully. She smiled as she leaned up, swinging her leg over his waist until she straddled him fully. Torian eased back against the wall behind the bench, wrapping his hands softly under her thighs so he could pull her close enough that her soft, warm core was nestled up against his stomach and he could feel her warming his groin. He breathed in, inhaling her scent -- the spices of her meal and the soaps of her recent bath, all of it combining together into the delicious breath of his woman, there on top of him. Kas rasped out softly to him, "You want to keep me, then?"

His eyes darkened suddenly, glittering almost golden brown with heat. Torian reached up, laying both his hands against the sides of her face so he could pull her towards him. Kas gasped softly as she felt her breasts squashed into the hard length of his chest. Torian rubbed his thumbs along the sides of her face, back and forth, groaning out, "Yes. I want you. More than anything ... I want to marry you, Kas."

She breathed in slowly as her eyes melted into his gaze. Like warm, smooth liquid in the soft expanse of her face. Her breaths were soft puffs along his chin as she leaned into his touch, smiling at him, "It's about time you said it. I was wondering if there was something I was supposed to do, first. Do we need to tell anyone, get papers made -- something?"

Torian grunted with nervous excitement. He scanned down her front, looking over her soft form pressed up against him as he murmured, "No. Just promise each other – it’s enough. We’ll tell others, after.”

She laughed lightly, chewing on her lower lip as she bent her shoulder into a small shrug, "Gaib’ll want a party. At a cantina, and with loads of lights." Kastiel butted her nose against Torian’s as she smoothed her lips over his mouth. He slanted his face to better kiss her, to taste her, moving his mouth back and forth so that the sensitive flesh of her lips tingled and swelled against his own. Torian ran his mouth down, over the corner of her lips, crossing along the bump of her chin, and then down her neck. She leaned her head back, baring her neck to his touch as she held onto him, her fingers gripping the short hair against the back of his head.

Then Torian pulled back, looking at her seriously. His eyes were brightly gleaming, like fire there in his face. He tucked her closer to him, until the length of her torso was draped against him and their faces were so close they were practically breathing back and forth for each other. He held her tightly, his fingers clasping her lower back just above her hips as he told her, "Kas … Love you, Kas. _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde_. _Ner cyare_. _Riduur_."

Kastiel licked gently against Torian's chin, tickling the slender stripe of hair he kept trimmed there and listening as he groaned with desire again. "Mine. My husband. _Mhi solus tome_. _Mhi solus dar'tome_. _Mhi me'dunui an_. _Mhi ba'juri verde_. _Ner riduur,_ " Kas interspersed her words with brief kisses, ghosting her lips back and forth across his face. Until she finished, and he buried his face against the soft skin of her throat, groaning heated words.

He told her he loved her again; he told her his hopes. He told her he wanted her, had always wanted her. The words came, one after another. And Kastiel held onto him the whole while, her dark head hanging back and her scarred face looking up towards the roof of the galley.

* * *

Jagger leaped to his feet, balancing himself along the thin, slender spine of the beast they were riding. He raised his green hands up into the air over his head, yelling wildly in celebratory cheer as the thranta slowly drifted to the ground.

He looked incredible, brightly green with his armor gleaming in the pale sunlight of the early Alderaan spring. The mountains stretched high above his head, so the snow on the peaks provided a dramatic backdrop to his stance. Corridan sighed dramatically loud as he stood there on the ground, watching. He glanced aside, towards the fighters standing there with wide grins stretching across their respective faces. He bit his lip to keep from smiling, too, and muttered with dramatic seriousness, "At least Torian is smart enough, rather. Look … He's holding onto the saddle, instead of dancing on the animal's ass-end."

The other Mandalorians laughed aloud, winging cries into the air that welcomed the transports. Many of them cheered and waved towards Jagger as the thranta settled against the surface of the landing platform. The Alderanians manning the platform cried out, rushing forward to secure the winged creature while Jagger bounded towards the ground in a single, wild flip of motion. Torian shook his head, grinning wide as he slid safely down from the back of the thranta. Corridan slapped the blonde-haired Mandalorian against his shoulder as they approached, laughing, "Being careful, heh?"

Corridan had wondered if the Champion would come with him. But Torian shook his head against the possibility, explaining she was avoiding overt battles with Jedi. At least for a time. Corridan subsided when Torian said there was a Jedi hunting her. Not easy, avoiding a Jedi hunt.

Jagger suddenly raised himself straight from the low bows and inflections he was making in front of the laughing troop of Mando warriors. He looked over at Corridan, his white teeth shining brightly in his brightly green, grinning face. Jagger shouted above the din, "He'd better! Or his _wife_ will take him apart! I tattooed the Champion's neck myself, back on Vaiken, mind you. That one's tough as all the Hells; she barely flinched as I worked the ink! She's well able to beat your skinny ass if you fell off a thranta’s tail, Torian!"

Torian snorted, "My ass isn't so skinny, Jagger. Wouldn't keep her from beating me if I was stupid as you, you're right. Kas is protective like that."

Corridan raised a single fist into the air and grabbed Torian's shoulder with his other arm to pull him solidly against his side as he turned to the other Mandalorians, shouting, "She said _yes_! _Oya_! Cadera!" The Alderanians looked over at them, fighting to hold the Thranta in place as wild Mandalorian cheers of revelry filled the air. One of the men looked towards his friend, frowning, "Never thought of Mandalorians as ... happy sorts."

His friend shook his head, amused, "When you fight as much as they do, life's celebrations take on a whole new meaning, I would think."

* * *

"Master Seros, the hunter could be useful, an invaluable tool in service to the Republic. It would have the added benefit, too, of providing her the means to compensate for the injustice she did the Jedi. A win-win, if you will."

But the Overseer sighed as he watched the Jedi, knowing the argument was falling flat on the man’s mind. Jun Seros was the Jedi Order’s Battlemaster, and his work with the GenoHaradan was long enough the Overseer recognized the expression on his face. Jedi eschewed emotional decisions, for the most part. But Seros usually allowed for a pressing purse of his lips when he was struggling with feelings of disgust or repugnant disagreement.

Seros lowered his chin now, chopping the air with the blade of his palm, "The hunter _will_ meet justice, rather. Not given license to do as she wills. I am hopeful your attentions will not be required. But you must be prepared, regardless."

The Overseer was thoughtful, reaching up mindlessly to pull his earlobe between his fingers, which he began rubbing mechanically. Seros looked back at him, considering him carefully through the lens of their shared years of work and effort. The Overseer was human, obviously. But his origins were hidden and murky, lost to time and its journeys. Seros didn’t even know his name – wondered sometimes if the Overseer himself remembered that much of himself. It was a given then, that the Oversee would maintain strict limits on the information he would provide to Seros. He only murmured thoughtfully, rather, "Her movements are so difficult to ascertain?"

Seros slowly shook his head, "It's her motivations that remain unclear. Aside from simple greed or base pleasure over the course of her hunts, of course. I can not determine what's important to her."

The Overseer smiled with cold calculation, "Her friends. You must determine who it is she calls friend. Or lover, even more important. Few things will get a person moving faster, give them more impetus than to have someone they care for threatened." Seros shifted softly, still looking serenely unconcerned. Even as he wondered how many beings had faced the Overseer's "impetus" over the years. But then, perhaps that was the only sort of real language the woman understood, was to bring pressure against her own people and loved ones.

The Overseer considered Seros again, watching the contemplative expressions move across his features. The greying Jedi even frowned slightly, "I have word she's met with the other Hunt champions, that they're the ones passing her marks and guiding her hunts. She's been seen on Taris. And now, on Hoth. She threatened one of our Knights there."

"Yes. I heard she took down Reneget Vause on Hoth. He'd become something of a legend among the pirates in that region of space. As he was harrassing Imperial and Chiss targets, more than Republic, we'd yet to make any motions against him." The Overseer touched the tip of his mouth with one finger as he considered, "Her success at taking down targets no one else has managed to break is why she's such a fascinating opportunity, Master Seros. The hunt on Taris, for instance. That was a Mandalorian who'd successfully evaded capture for nearly two decades."

Seros murmured, "Why would the Mandalorians have her hunt one of their own?"

"He was an exile. Reviled by them so much that even his own son helped her to destroy him." A brief, thin smile flitted across the Overseer's mouth, "You would've seen him, surely. He was the man accompanying the hunter when she killed your Jedi padawan on Quesh. He hasn't left her side since Taris, in fact."

"No. I had no idea who the man was, thought him little more than a puppet jumping at the hunter's direction. Or a guard, maybe. Someone the Mandalore directed to watch over the hunter."

The Overseer hummed thoughtfully, "His Clan name is Cadera, actually. There was a falling-out between that clan and the Mandalore, years ago. But still. Torian Cadera is worth investigating. Especially if his value to the hunter is high enough. We'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some words in Mando'a worth translating, then:
> 
> Tiingilar - An intensely spicy Mandalorian dish made from meat and vegetables. Its spicy scent was strong enough it actually burned a person's nasal passages, an effect known as hetikles.  
> Hetikles - Or "noseburn" in Galactic Basic. The effect produced by the heavy use of spices in Mandalorian cooking, prized among the Clans as one of the four qualities of good cooking.  
> Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde - "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors." Mandalorian marriage vows. Mandalorians didn't share their vows publicly, as a rule. Weddings were typically private, with the couple exchanging their vows either in person, or even over commlink. Celebrations that involved friends and festivity normally followed sometime later. Marriage was considered a lifelong commitment among Mandalorians, and most of them were married around the age of sixteen.  
> Cyare - "Beloved" or "Loved". A popular term of endearment.  
> (Ner) Riduur - (My) "Spouse", "Wife", "Husband".
> 
> Finally, the GenoHaradan was a guild comprised of carefully chosen bounty hunters and assassins that relied on strict secrecy. They worked almost exclusively for the Republic, seeing their mission as preserving the Republic. Real arguments could be made that the guild actually controlled and manipulated the course of Republic politics. The leadership of the guild was comprised of four seperate Overseers, all of whom remained secret. Their identities were hidden even from each other, in fact.


	80. Explosions and more Explosions

Kastiel reached high over her head, maneuvering the explosives carefully into place. She could feel Gault looming just behind her, utterly still from the sheer nervousness of their motions in such an exposed position. He only scanned all around them, not even twitching when Kas thumbed the timer against the side of the device and then eased back from the bridge's central pylon.

The filthy water rippled around her knees as they both moved through the sludge towards the far bank of the steaming water and away from the large factory-looking structure that pumped thick gouts of gaseous filth into the air. Kastiel grunted towards Gault, "Quesh is almost as used up as Nal'Hutta. Almost."

"Not like we're here to sight-see, Kas,” Gault followed her through the water, blithely ignoring the greasy residue left on his leathered pants as they moved along. “Hey, I wouldn't mind checking up on that box-faced Imperial scad from last time we were on-planet, here. Wonder if he ever managed to breathe right after Torian worked him over." Gault grumbled sourly as he moved along behind Kastiel, wondering when he'd become so accustomed to these disgusting circumstances that trudging through shit was barely concerning anymore. Still … He tapped the buckles that secured his face mask in place, making sure the thing was still planted firmly over his mouth and nose. No reason to take chances with his actual health, Gault thought.

They slid through the water, moving slowly along the stream's edge until they found the narrow path towards a brief outcropping of stone wall. Kas shrugged as she examined it, uncertain what race or species had made it so long ago. Hutt filth covered the entire expanse now, bleaching the stone until it glowed nearly orange in the low light of Quesh horizon. The only thing that concerned Kastiel right then, was how the wall overlooked the stretch of roadway extending out from the manufactory.

Now she settled down onto the ground next to Gault, laying flat and prone on her stomach so she could look down onto the road. Gault grumbled at her when the blunt curve of her blaster dug into his side, playfully pushing back against her with his own trim hip as if angling for more room. But he pulled his rifle up to sight down the length of the barrel towards the road and the bridge, scanning back and forth, "We're going to be late for your party, Kas. You know that, right? Bloodworthy is going to be heartbroken, just heartbroken. It’s bad enough you didn’t invite him to the wedding, mind you. Or me. What about _me_ , Kas?"

The bounty hunter grunted with amusement, "Stop whining, Gault. We didn’t want to put on a show for you. Or anyone. And this shouldn't take too long, either."

Gault grumbled a morose sound, pretending sadness. Complete with mopey eyes that made her chuckle. He chuckled and grinned at her, then turned back to watch through his scope again.

That's why he was the first to see a small squad of Republic troopers vault through the gate of the teeming structure. They were following a human male who’s brown hair gleamed almost blonde in Quesh’s sour light, making him look almost attractive and never mind that silly-looking mask that stretched over the lower half of his face. The lot of soldiers all loped towards the trees and bushes lining the roadway, making for a fairly obvious extraction. Gault hummed towards her as he pointed at the man’s back, "That's one of the bastards, Kas. Seen him before, at least. I could take him out, here."

Kastiel shook her head, laying a single hand against Gault's shoulder, "No. We haven't caught sight of Khyriel since he went through the gate. Just stay focused on what we're here to do."

"All right. But we might be sorry for it in the long run," Gault lowered his face until his eye was pressed into the scope’s circle, scanning the line of soldiers with precise attention. Kastiel prodded the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue thoughtfully, and muttered, "I just want to make sure my brother gets away from this shit-hole of a world in one piece today, Gault. We'll worry about 'the long run' later."

Gault gently removed his finger from the trigger, watching as the Republic squad disappeared down the roadway. He leaned softly against Kastiel's hold on his shoulder, grunting, "Khyriel’s fine, Kas. X was quick to note your brother’s more than ready for this confrontation, and it’s good of you to use X that much. I’m sure he’ll be appreciative once he realizes, too.”

Kastiel harrumphed slightly just behind the Mandalorian faceplate covering her face. Gault was becoming more than accustomed to the look of that helmet, actually. As if the more time she spent wearing it, the more Mandalorian Kastiel was growing. Like it was a second skin of hers, and it only conformed to her shape.

But still. He felt sorry when it obscured Kastiel’s features earlier in the day. The artistic tattoo inked into the skin of her neck now, like burgundy-colored lines made from fingers that drifted along her scars, there, appealed to him for some strange reason. Perhaps it was the color. Almost wine-red and bright against her pale skin. But the design itself was pretty, too, so Gault complained when she hid it from sight. Kastiel only shrugged as she pulled the helmet over her head and climbed onto the shuttle, "What, so my face becomes even more of a damned show for everyone, Gault? No.”

How the woman could remain so self-conscious about herself befuddled the ever-living crap out of Gault, even now. But he accepted it as yet another one of those minor idiosyncrasies of hers that just made her adorable, really.

The ground shook under them suddenly, with plumes of smoke slowly etching the sky over the roof of the factory-building. Gault hummed a small sound as they watched the gate carefully, both still and silent. Gault could hear Kastiel _breathing_ in the quiet of their position, there.

And that's when Khyriel darted through the blasted-open doorway nearby the gate. He went like a darkly brilliant arrow, moving fast. The small dark-skinned female he apparently appreciated so much followed behind him, like a lovely dark shadow keeping pace with him as they moved. Gault smiled, pointing at the slight figure of the woman who stayed so close to the Imperial agent, "It’s obvious as crap she likes him. But I mean it, Kas. He likes her back – first female I’ve seen that he seems to _really_ enjoy. And he keeps her close to him, too. She’s not some task, or job to him."

Kastiel huffed out a breath as she watched both of them moving along the roadway, narrowing her eyes as she examined the trim female figure moving along behind her brother. She would need to learn just how important the girl really was, to him. She lifted her chin just slightly and muttered, "Then we’ll have to keep _her_ intact, too, Gault. So stay focused."

Gault growled low, his finger tightening against the trigger of his rifle as he noticed a loud group of Republic soldiers lumber past the gate after the pair, "He'll be fine. I told you, don't worry." He sighted down the length of his rifle, inhaling slowly. His first shot took the very last soldier puffing thick breaths in the very rear-end of the running group, so that he spun on the heel of his boot and fell down to the ground. Gault chuckled, "See?" He shot another soldier before the officer leading them swung a hard gaze around the field, shouting something that neither Kastiel or Gault could understand. Kastiel snarled quietly at the soldiers, even though they were too far away to even possibly hear a word she said, "That’s it. Keep moving towards the bridge, take cover on the bridge … Come on!"

Several soldiers yelled aloud when they saw Khyriel jumping up onto the length of bridge just then, as he and his little friend rushed further away. The soldiers angrily leaped after him, neatly diverted from looking for Gault’s sniper fire. They were obviously cursing, shouting towards Khyriel’s back as he went along, some of them firing weapons in the agent’s direction and causing him to duck closer to the edge of the bridge. The Republic officer was chanting into a commlink held close to his face even as he kept rushing, and he shouted out angrily just as Khyriel passed the opposite end of the bridge.  

That’s when the soldiers reached the bridge and leaped up onto its surface.

Kastiel grinned, while Gault whooped softly there next to her. She gently depressed the button against the side of the handheld, until the first explosion blared out and shook the ground.

All three pylons dissolved fast beneath the rush of chemical volatility, sending debris and Republic soldiers alike flying through the dirty air. They might have managed to survive somehow, except that the water the men fell into then reacted badly to the flames that licked the edges of their uniforms. The chemicals polluting the water flared wildly into gushing fireballs, until the entire surface of the water became a huge, rolling ball of fire. The scene became a fiery mess of mewling, screaming men, all of them wiggling and jerking through the steaming water.

"Ouch. Remind me never to skirt through the flammable water on this world again, okay? And shit. I need to clean my pants!" Gault watched the gory spectacle with wide eyes. Kastiel looked away, leaning her head around Gault's frame to watch as Khyriel stopped along the roadway to consider the incident. She could see him frowning, before he turned and scanned the trees and bushes overlooking the road.

No one would ever call her brother stupid, she thought, smiling. Khyriel was looking for Gault, and he unerringly noted the best area for the devaronian to be hunkered down. Kas patted her fingers along Gault's shoulder, and they both eased backwards out of sight. Gault grumbled as he moved, "You should just go down there and fucking introduce yourself, Kas."

"Only a little longer, maybe,” Kastiel murmured quietly as she moved briskly away from the arching ruin. Staying quiet, as if her brother might find her if she only failed at being so much quick and silent. “Pella Hejaran is a more dangerous bitch than her sister ever was, and Karen managed to kill both my parents, Gault. I’m not sure what ties Pella made with Lusiel, either. Or even if she did. But I won’t risk Camiel on that chance, either. We all have to be ready, first."

Gault grimaced, “You really think Pella could get Khyriel to hurt you? Bah!” He snorted disdainfully as he followed Kastiel’s quick progress, “I looked into it, you know. Pella Hejaran’s branch of that house isn’t so notable, even if she brags about her ‘royal lineage’. Truth is, no one will really miss the bitch. Including your little brother, I’d think.”

Kas shrugged, "Pella always had more physical control over him than anyone else, though. If she managed to convince Lusiel, then Khyriel can become a real threat. No, he’ll do whatever Lusiel needs him to do. It won’t matter how much he hates Pella." Kastiel slanted Gault a twisted quirk of her lips that didn’t quite stretch into a grin, "This still needs to be done carefully. The way I was with Pella’s damned sop of a husband. Hell, they still insist he was killed by simple thieves. Like there was more than one, even! Idiots."

Gault shrugged as they hurried along the pathways towards the speeders. He muttered a disgusted sound when his boots squelched against the sodden ground under their feet, "Well, I don't really imagine there are too many people who would've been able to figure a sixteen year-old girl slowly and methodically battered a Dromund Kaas nobleman to death, actually." He scanned her figure slowly, as she walked there in front of him. He sighed … She really did have a nice ass, anyway. "Actually, I have a hard time picturing it myself. You don't seem the type to have fun killing a man."

"It wasn't fun, Gault. Only necessary. I made it hard because he fucking deserved it … that’s all," Kastiel stopped. Gault tumbled to a stop just behind her as the ground shook hard under their feet suddenly.

Gault chuckled aloud, "Hey, we’re not the only ones blowing stuff up today! Isn’t it great being part of a crazy-assed crowd?" Kas scanned ahead of them, far up the roadway. She shook her head, grunting, "That was too close to the Empire’s base. Wonder if the Republic is making some sort of move against Moff Dracen."

Gault followed her as Kastiel ducked across several tree-lined ditches before skirting around an abandoned missile battery. The heavy machinery really was sinking into the soggy ground, so that half the thing was buried in the muck and filth of the wet soil. Gault blinked as he looked at the massive piece of trash, considering the chance it really would disappear all the way under the ground. He shuddered at the thought of anyone being swallowed up by such an ugly, little planet.

But Kastiel was hurrying ahead of him and Gault grumbled as he rushed after her, “Oh, well, sure. Let's go running _towards_ the dangerous mess, then. Why not? We've already blown up a bridge today. It's not like the Republic isn't going to be looking for us, or anything. Oh, noooo."

"Damn it, Gault. Shut up."

Gault tried looking past Kastiel, wondering why she was so much intent. Conflicts in and around the mining ventures of both the Empire and Republic created myriad explosions that sounded through the region routinely. Why was the bounty hunter so determined to examine this one? Gault grumbled with amusement as he followed behind her, "You say that with love in your voice. No, no! No need to admit it. I can hear it."

Kastiel sighed with exasperation, darting a quick look over her shoulder towards the devaronian that nearly sizzled. Gault held up both his hands in mocking surrender, and gamely grinned at her. Then they reached a slight incline that rose up over a low mine entrance, where the railings were now bent and twisted and a line of heavy smoke was sullenly seeping out. Gault exhaled roughly when they both saw the dark-haired Imperial holding up the woman’s head there on the ground in front of the wrecked entrance-way, as clumps of mucky soil and grime kept falling around them. The Imperial was shielding the unconscious woman’s face, and murmuring softly to her as he bent over her.

Gault gaped at the pair of them, "Well … fuck. What’re the odds? Seriously, like one in a million? Or maybe it’s Sith magic, and they just poofed into being here right after we talked about her." Kas held up a single gloved hand, signaling him to quiet as she edged closer, listening to the gasping breaths her sister was loosing.

Her mind was working fast, cataloging the severity of the injuries she could discern from this distance. Lusiel's shoulder was severely broken, most likely crushed. Her breathing was rough enough she had to have some kind of damage to her lung, probably both of them. Lusiel was hurting badly, even unconscious.

But then Gault laid a hand against Kastiel's arm so he had her attention. He pointed westward, and she looked long enough to note the heat signatures of an approaching team. Kas tilted her chin, nodding, "If they were Lusiel’s people, they’d be moving out from the Empire’s base. These ones were waiting nearby, rather."

Gault nodded, "Someone's coming to make sure your sister’s dead. And that pretty-faced Imperial of hers isn’t in any condition to fight them off."

Quinn's head snapped up when he heard them talking. His face was utterly pale, almost ghost-like against the backdrop of smoke and grit from the mine entrance. Pain tautened his jaw into a hard line and his chin was speckled with blood he kept coughing up. Kastiel clenched her jaw tight as she looked back at him, feeling a thrill of anger tighten her stomach into a hard knot.

Malavai Quinn was dying, right there in the dirt. Fuck!

It would hurt her sister to lose him. Kastiel knew it. She’d spied on Lusiel for years, even when they were both so tiny back on Dromund Kaas. And the only single time she could remember ever seeing her older sister laugh aloud was when this man was holding her, back on Alderaan. Lusiel actually played with him, and he pleased her for it. Kastiel would be damned today if anyone managed to kill him.

Kastiel didn't drop her gaze from Quinn’s masked features as she edged carefully closer, watching him grip Lusiel closer to him as he raised a shaking blaster in Kas’ direction. He coughed again, before spitting bloody phlegm out onto the ground. Then he glared towards Kas, holding her sister's dark head protectively against his chest as he vowed, "Don't think I can’t ... I'll kill you if you try to hurt her anymore." Kastiel was satisfied with him right then. Years later, when they were both huddled over a table as they shared drinks enough to become well and truly drunk, she would even tell him.

But he was determined to protect her sister. As much as Kastiel was, even. And the willingness to do it, and never mind the pain he was feeling or the dying he was struggling to stave off – none of it stopped him from shielding Lusiel. Kastiel decided he was worth it. She’d protect him, too.

Kas leaned back onto the balls of her feet, crossing her arms over her chest as she regarded the pain lighting Quinn’s eyes above his breathing mask, "How's that going to work if you’re dead? Won’t even take too long. You're bleeding out, captain."

Quinn lifted his chin, "I will last long enough to kill you. Believe me."

Kas glanced to the west, watching the motions of the approaching enemy, "Maybe you would, too. Except we’re about to have company, and I’m not sure even you could fight them off, too. Not in time, at least." Kastiel grunted towards Gault, gesturing with her uplifted chin in the direction of the moving figures. The devaronian murmured to her as he hefted his rifle against his side, "Dead assassins coming right up." Gault turned abruptly and trotted back behind the incline. Quinn glanced after him. But he kept his primary focus on the hunter in front of him.

Kas slowly extracted her medical kit, knowing he was watching her carefully and that he'd recognize the container for what it was. It was definitely not a minor bit of first aid equipment that any flunky soldier carried into the field. The kit Kastiel carried was designed for someone with exceptional medical training and she packed it carefully to ensure it was ready for use.

Quinn muttered dazedly, blinking through the spots in his vision, "Why?" Kas could tell he was losing any semblance of coherent thought process. He jerked when another explosion sounded from nearby and looked off in the direction Gault went. The devaronian was smart enough to use the last of their detonators to destroy the bad guys, Kas thought. She assured Quinn, "He'll make sure the bastards coming to finish you don't get the chance. So who did this?"

Quinn's blue eyes sharpened on her again, "You don't know?"

"Nope. Last time I spoke to you was on Balmorra, captain. And you were a lieutenant then. You've come a ways serving your Sith Lord, there, hmm?"

Quinn glanced down at Lusiel, the way her head lolled back on her neck. He was swiftly approaching unconsciousness, and he knew it, feared it. Pierce wouldn't reach them in time and the burly soldier lacked the medical expertise it would take to save them, regardless. Quinn sighed, “My wife. Baras tried to kill my wife.” He would have to depend on the hunter, even though he hated the mere thought of it. He pressed Lusiel closer to him, grimacing when she moaned softly in pain.

Kastiel's eyes flashed. But she didn't make a smart-ass comment, no matter how much she wanted to. Her sister's marriage to an Imperial just surprised her. Lusiel always seemed too staidly proper to marry beneath her social station. What other layers to her sister did Kas miss over the years? Kastiel shrugged, "Well. I don't know any Baras. I do know you. Why not let me keep you from dying there in the muck, hmm?"

"Lusiel ..."

"You first. You're more critical."

Quinn looked at her. Kastiel's face was covered by a thick faceplate, but he remembered her from Balmorra. He knew she was human, with dark hair and eyes. He had thought she was attractive enough, no matter the damage done to her face. Maybe it was the laughter that lined her eyes and the amusement she sparked in him, too. Not that he'd ever admit to being amused. But was that brief interaction really enough to garner support from her today, Quinn wondered. He panted, "Why are you doing this?"

Kastiel shrugged with pretended nonchalance. Like she didn't care. But her senses were actually blaring madly with frantic, bitter anger as she watched her sister. Lusiel was straining against her husband's body, crying out intermittently from pain even insensible against him the way she was. Her breaths were rattled and shaky, too. Kas hated it. Lusiel was always so much strong and powerful in her mind, even when she was small and little and ever since, too. This? It offended Kastiel. But she only looked back at Quinn and she lied bald-faced, "Not a bad piece of work, getting a Sith to owe me a favor."

The neat, simple rejoinder finally eased Quinn's concern merely by its familiarity. Greed for some kind of power, for some slim chance at security - even if it was called upon later - that was something any Imperial could understand and appreciate. So Quinn inhaled slowly, deciding and telling her so, easing back to lower the blaster so that she could come closer. "Internal bleeding. It’s a crush injury, most likely. My side hurts," he said.

Kastiel nodded, reaching out for Lusiel. She lifted the unconcious Sith off of Quinn, watched his eyes glitter as she lay her sister's head down against the moistness of the Quesh soil. "She’s lying in the dirt," Quinn muttered. "Damn Baras. Damn him."

Quinn looked at Kastiel as she settled down alongside him. She yanked his uniform jacket up to expose the great, glaring bruise that marred his skin along his side and belly. He spoke strongly, just one more time, "He'll pay for this. I'll be there when Lusiel guts him with her blade. I swear it." But then Quinn lost consciousness, screaming when Kas applied a pressor field device against his skin. The pressure halted the bleeding spots on his liver, but the pain was intense as Kastiel worked so quick and methodical to halt his blood loss without using surgical devices that would break his skin. There was no way she'd poison his tissues with the filth of the planet all around them.

Kastiel grunted eventually, leaning back so she could look over her efforts. She eased his uniform back into place, before finally turning towards her sister. Gault pattered back into view just then.

"So he going to make it?" Gault leaned against his rifle as he examined the wounded Imperial lying unconscious against the mucky ground. Gault looked tired. And dirty. The fact he wasn't even complaining about it was testament to the sheer weariness beating at him, she knew. She still snorted at him, not looking up from where she was repairing the most immediate damage to her sister’s lungs and stabilizing her breathing, "Are you trying to say I'm no good at this?"

Gault harrumphed, "Fuck no. Next time I need you to fix my ass, I'm hoping you'll actually do it."


	81. Rendevous

Gaibriel leaned over the side of medical table, mumbling to himself as he smoothed a bandage over a laceration on the Mandalorian’s neck. The warrior tried staying still but he still twitched against the surface, hissing as he tried to avoid Gaib’s fingers. Gaib raised a dark eyebrow when the man snarled several vivid curses towards him - in Mando'a, of course. He chuckled, "Are you calling me names? I'm always looking for new insults, trust me. Or ... wait, maybe you're complimenting my good looks! You wouldn't be the first Mando that did that, either. I have this way with Mandoes ..."

Akaavi interrupted him harshly, "Enough, _ner di'kut_. Such things are not open for discussion." She scanned the entire assembly of warriors there in the medbay, warningly glaring at each one of them in order. Gaibriel grinned as the rough-looking Mandalorians dropped their eyes against Akaavi’s glare, grunting low sounds of agreement. Even dirty from battle, the warriors quailed back from Akaavi's vehement warning. Then Akaavi grumbled dourly towards Gaib’s bent head as he leaned back over the wounded man on the table, "And it _was_ an insult."

"You insult me all the time, though. I like it, actually," Gaibriel twisted a grin in her direction. He waved the ship’s droid towards the injury he was smoothing adhesive gel over, grunting directions at the droid. Akaavi snorted back at him.

But she wisely refrained from saying anything else, knowing he'd pick up any verbal gauntlet she tossed down and just run with it. Her captain seemed to delight in such exchanges, if only to see her blush. He told her that her blushes made her reddish-brown skin look "like a dark wine ... beautiful". She told him that testing her temper, rather, made _him_ a madman. But he laughed then, "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea. Let me show you just how _mad_ I can be!" She rather enjoyed what he did then actually, which made her blush, now.

Gaib smiled at Akaavi, a knowing look crossing through his eyes as she studiously examined the walls, the tables litered with broken warriors, the uninjured Mandalorians who hunkered down against the walls and out of the way -- anything but him. She finally glared instead at Gus, watching the poor shlub as he stumbled over one warrior's boot and began jabbering a wild bit of gibberish that was probably supposed to be an apology.

Gaibriel laughed across the length of the medbay, "Gus, stop! Just get the bone stabilizer onto the green guy's leg. Pronto! He's starting to looked like a wilted Manak Leaf over there." Jagger shook his head, trying to wave aside the clumsy-looking Mon Calamari from touching his injured leg and complained loudly, "He'll break it even worse than that Republic soldier did in the first place ... look at him! He can't even walk straight!"

Gus reared back, affronted, "I'm a good healer! The Jedi said so, even after they kicked me out!"

Jagger gaped at him, "You were denied by the Jedi, too? Torian! Keep him away from me!"

Gaibriel chuckled as Torian began arguing between the two men in that slow, careful way of his. It was Torian's call that brought the Freedom's Way to Alderaan. Gaib called it pure proof he adored his sister. Because smuggling a troop of Mandoes off the world after they battled Jedi and Republic soldiers alike was pure brashness. He spluttered towards Torian on the holo, "You know how many spaceports would be closed to me if it was discovered I got you off-planet?"

Torian only shrugged patiently, "Never took you for worrying over being caught. You _are_ a smuggler, right?" Gaib smiled wide over the rejoinder, heartily amused. Now he kneeled down next to the Mandalorian leader, leaning over to examine the bruised line along the left side of Corridan’s scalp as he considered the ease with which every Mando he really bantered with made him laugh. Not always in the same way, mind you. He clicked his tongue at Corridan, "This looks like a lightsaber strike that didn't quite strike."

Corridan smiled slowly, neatly hiding the pain he endured the entire while Gaibriel worked at repairing his injured warriors. He had refused to receive any treatment until his men were cared for, firstly. Honor demanded he provide for them before taking his own ease. Bad enough that he lost some - even a good friend had fallen during the battle. But he refused to lose even one more today. Corridan murmured thoughtfully as he kept watching his warriors, "Would have been worse if Torian hadn't taken down the Jedi before he could finish it. He saved my life. Twice over, too, considering we got transport off-world because of him. I don't know you, even if he does." He looked at Gaib curiously, wondering why a Republic privateer would respond to a call from one of the _Mando'ad_.

Gaibriel glanced over at Torian. His blonde hair was mussed and stiffly dry with sweat and blood, his face streaked with dirt and grime, and his armor was now dented in several new spots. He looked tired, Gaib thought. Tired enough at least that he essentially snatched the stabilizer out of Gus' hand and declared he would use it on Jagger's leg himself, his patience at an end. The Mirialan skirted back against the table, whining, "Wait a minute! Maybe that's not a good idea, either. Shit! Okay, okay! I'm no _jare_ , Torian, but I'll let the oaf work on my leg."  Even exhausted Torian was able to coerce the situation to a resolution, and Gaib chuckled.

"It’s _Kastiel_ who knows me." It was the only thing Gaib offered the Mandalorian captain as he waved aside the tiny medical droid that blinked and trilled various signals and lights, snorting over the information the machine displayed. Then he smoothly applied a regeneration bandage over the injury on Corridan’s forehead, and Corridan winced before he could stop himself. The cool wash of medicine from another one of the smuggler's little droids eased his pain, though.

Corridan wondered how many of the little machines the captain had on-hand. But he still sighed in relief as he eased back against the wall of the medbay and smiled loopily with quiescent satisfaction. He wasn't completely aware, not with the drugs speedily working in his system. Which is probably why he only mumbled out the words, his tone conveying more curiosity than anything, "That makes sense, then. The champion would ask someone she trusted to help her husband, hmm?"

Gaibriel's brows snapped tightly together in angry shock. He jerked to his feet, spinning around to glare over at Torian. He almost shouted, "You _married_ her without inviting me? Oh, I am so going to beat your ass, Torian!"

* * *

"Hello, my beauty."

The man wasn't too young. He was human, with brown hair that was just barely starting to grey against his temples. Obviously wealthy. Just the coat he was wearing probably cost a good twenty thousand credits, at least.

Kastiel eyed the garment shrewdly, wondering if Gault would like the garish thing. It was purple – Gault’s favorite color. It’s why she barely noticed the way the man angled his shoulders so flirtatiously, except that she was better able to judge the twist and pull of his coat's threads. Maybe she could convince him to sell her the expensive garment. But then he crooned at her, "My friends and I are enjoying a high-end celebration at the best casino and hotel here in Nar Shaddaa. Surely you could join us, hmm?"

Kastiel's gaze shot up from her consideration of his attire, to finally consider whatever obnoxious expression was splayed across his face. She knew her own face was blank as she looked at him, but only because she was practiced at hiding her feelings from arrogant, supercilious twats. And why were there always so many of them? Interbreeding, maybe. Kastiel snorted softly, "Do I look like I'd be even remotely interested in dancing up against a gambling table at a casino with you?" She actually tapped against the hard chestplate that covered her torso, strong enough to make several pinging noises they could both hear over the droning advertisements blaring through the speakers.

Kas gave him real credit. He had gall enough not to drop his eyes or drag his heels in some kind of embarrassed shuffle over her blunt confrontation. Especially considering the snickers coming from his just-as-rich-looking buddies standing in a small muddled group just behind him. No, this one was bold enough he simply disregarded the refusal. Maybe he expected it, even. But he persisted, only lifting his shoulders with totally pugnacious tenacity, "I didn’t suppose you had much else to do, though. You’re only idling here at the spaceport, after all. I am willing to pay, of course. I imagine people like you look for pay when making any sort of arrangement."

Kastiel's brown eyes became colder as she looked back at him. Mako called out her name suddenly, shouting over to her from where she was standing at a nearby vendor’s stall. But Kas didn’t respond; she just stayed focused on. She rubbed her fingers together as she considered him, "You need me to take down a target at this spiffy casino of yours, then?"

He waved a hand in such a conceited level of disregard she very nearly curled her nose in disgust. A man could drown if he kept his nose that damned high in the Dromund Kaas rain, anyway. And it was obvious he was from Dromund Kaas. He was just too accustomed to having his every whim satisfied, apparently. He trilled loudly, "By the stars, no! I'm not at all interested in bloodsport of any kind. It's only my companions and I desire a certain level of accommodation this evening, rather. Something ... different and unique. Dangerous and spicy, even. And then I saw you, just as soon as we arrived! Fortuitous, don't you think?"

Kas shook her dark head, causing the little braid running along the side of face to fall against her chin as her implants twinkled in the flashing lights from nearby. He stopped to watch that small tuft of hair, which brought his attention to the scars running down from her cheek until they arched and looped along the vulnerable expanse of her throat. There was a vivid tattoo there, too, just under the dark edge of her hair. Four burgundy-colored lines, like the trails of fingers that curved over her scars.

The art should have looked strong and tough-looking on this kind of female. But the ink ended up looking ... possessive, maybe. Or protective even. The entire effect was intensely arousing. So many discordant threads of danger and strength – not to mention pure feminine angst -- that he sensed in her.

But Kastiel only stared at him. Her pouty lips curled up as if she was holding back a truly honest response that would expose her real feelings.

He pursed his own lips. He hated it when someone didn't respond to him directly. So many people spoke to him from out of the corner of their mouths. They lied and lied, and he despised them for it. As if they thought he was so easily manipulated, maybe. Not that it wasn’t common enough in Kaas City. But he didn't need to accept backstabbing nonsense at the resorts here at this bedlam of a Hutt world, too. He would definitely be damned if he would be on the receiving end of polite lies from a minor nobody of a mercenary.

But she didn't seem angry, either. Kastiel only looked away, just dismissing him entirely. And his request with him, to boot. "If it's romance you’re looking to buy, stop by one of the local cantinas. Trust me, the Cartel has a goodly supply of females here on Nar Shaddaa willing to give you as 'spicy' an experience as you can possibly imagine."

"As I said, I'm looking for a more unique experience. I'd pay very well, believe me," he pressed. He refused to believe such a woman couldn't be bought. Any woman could be bought! Some were simply more expensive than others, is all.

She glanced at him again. This time her hair fell back far enough he saw that her implants stretched back towards her ears. Perhaps she was truly hindered by a real handicap, he considered. That sort of weakness could be so easily exploited. His mind swirled with the possibilities, the myriad devices that could incapacitate a cyborg’s implants … Kastiel gestured down at her blaster again, "I told you I’m no whore. I’m a decent enough hunter, rather. That's the only service I sell." She turned away from him suddenly, nodding over at a smallish female waving at her from a nearby food stall. That's when he made the incredible mistake of reaching out to grab her arm and try yanking her closer to him.

"I don't think you understand ..." He started to threaten her. She didn't even know who he was, where he came from. She certainly had no idea how simple it would be for him to destroy her. He would explain it to her, using small words so she understood the role she was supposed to be playing here.

But Kastiel didn’t let him finish saying another word, though. As verbal insults went, this _di’kut_ was only barely remarkable, in fact. The only reason she allowed him to go along was the sheer boldness he displayed. Like a blasted, over-proud lizard displaying its fancy colors on the fringe of its neck, maybe. But then he touched her.

Kastiel punched him. Suddenly. Hard and vicious, into the center of his face. He actually stumbled back, so that his grip on her forearm loosened and he fell down with a plopping sound there on the floor, leaning back on his arms as his ass hit the ground.

She glanced down with disgust at her arm. There were sweaty imprints from his fingers on the bracers that fit snugly around her upper wrist. Torian had worked several kinks out of her bracers just before he travelled to meet with Corridan on Alderaan, actually. Now this fool’s slimy fingers were there. Son of a bitch, she thought.

The man was rolling around on the floor, sneezing trails of blood from his broken nose onto the tiles under him. His friends were shouting at her, but not one of them came closer. They were waving and calling for security guards to assist them, in fact. Kastiel wasn’t concerned – she even waved towards the two guards she could see nearby the spaceport doors. One of them was a Gamorrean, and there was a smaller human just next to him. Both of them laughed and pointed over at them, calling out a greeting towards Kastiel, "Drinks on us, champion! Thanks for the show!"

Which is probably why she used the chance to kick the damn fathead so firmly into the center of his butt just as he levered himself up onto his hands and knees, facing away from her. There was no reason to deny the audience even more entertainment, anyway. The nobleman tumbled face forward, bashing his already broken nose even harder against the floor of the taxi pad. He screamed out in terrible agony as his nose spurted even more blood across the floor. The guards almost fell down then, as they guffawed even louder.

Kastiel crossed her arms over her chest, watching her victim writhing back and forth across the floor as Mako ambled closer then. Mako stood alongside the bounty hunter, steadily munching on the burger she had purchased at the food stall. She swallowed before muttering to Kas, "Having fun?"

"Loads," Kastiel sighed as she glanced towards the spaceport doors again. Maybe time enough had passed she could finally meet Torian’s shuttle. "Was thinking of asking the guy, here, if he wanted to sell me that coat. But it's all bloody now, damn it."

"Yea, those stains would be a bitch to remove."

The stranger suddenly yelped out, "You'll pay for this!"

Kastiel turned away, "Hey, you wanted 'spicy' and 'dangerous'. Welcome to Nar Shaddaa." At least he lived, she thought. She turned to head into the spaceport, completely unconcerned about the injured chump she left sprawled on the floor behind her.

Mako watched him flop over onto his back, sniffing back the blood coming from his nose. She negligently finished eating her food as the man's friends finally rushed over to help him climb back to his feet. He stood there, glaring balefully at Kastiel's retreating back as Mako chuckled softly. So then he glared at her, too, and Mako really laughed as she turned to follow Kastiel.

He watched them go, yanking his arm away from his friends to stare daggers at the women's backs as they slowly meandered into the spaceport. And he slowly wiped the blood off his face, ignoring the cheering rabble nearby.

* * *

"You have to do something, aunt! The woman attacked me, for no good reason! If we allow such an insult, then others will think the Hejarans can be so ill-treated and new insults will abound. Greater insults, even!""Pella Hejaran was bored by the request from her brother's last surviving son. She had little doubt there was more to Bayter's foolish telling, than that he bumped into a hunter coming out of the Nar Shaddaa spaceport and earned a severely broken nose in terrible response. It was hardly the first time he behaved stupidly and paid a painful price. She had a sudden memory of him as a younger man, arguing with her brother when he was still alive: "But, father! She was no one, dressed in a damn worker's outfit! How was I to know who her mother was? She didn't tell me that, just yelled no over and over again. You can't make me marry her!" Give her brother credit, he didn’t back down an inch.

Which is why Bayter was married to a woman he encountered and forced while she was working in her garden at her mother's estates. Damn woman persisted in digging her fingers through the dirt, even. She told Pella once that her plants provided her the "only peace I've ever known". Pella surmised it was the extract she used from working the plant leaves into an oil. One that Bayter was highly allergic to. He couldn't even touch his own wife without breaking out into the most gods-awful rash that itched for days. So he avoided her entirely. Precisely as she intended, no doubt.

Pella sighed very dramatically now, as she watched her nephew's holoimage pace agitatedly. If only she'd had children of her own. Surely they would've proved better than those either one of her siblings had managed to push out into the world. "There are times, Bayter, that I wonder why my brother's children could fail so fantastically at the simplest tasks. You were to bargain with the Hutts for a new pleasure yacht. Yet this is the effort I am forced to expend today? Repairing some minor scrap you endured with a bounty hunter of all things?" She leaned her head back, looking skyward as if for divine assistance. Not that she ever actually ascribed to any kind of divinity for guidance. "Maybe I should only look to Karen's children. Even Khyriel could manage something so simple!"

Bayter stumbled to a stop. He looked towards Pella with a cruel twist of contemplation, "That isn't a bad idea, actually. Surely one of my cousins would be able to find information enough about this hunter, this ... champion. That's what the guards said she was called - 'Grand Champion of the Great Hunt', whatever that is. If not Khyriel with his military connections, then surely Lusiel. A Sith would be able to learn how to make this Kastiel pay, right?"

"What? What did you say? What did you call her?" Pella's gaze was sharp and direct now, blazing with fiery rage all of a sudden. Bayter actually leaned back. As if his aunt could reach through the holoterminal to grab him, if she wanted.

Pella snarled, "This champion ... what's her _name_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, the Faradin family was distantly related to Lusiel and Khyriel through marriage. They are cousins of Pella's dead husband. After the incident in which Torian beat Major Faradin, the Faradins contacted Lusiel directly. They never communicated with Pella Hejaran to describe what had happened. That makes this incident the first time she's heard Kastiel's name  
> .   
> Well, since the day Kastiel received her scars and deafness, that is. She thought Kastiel had died.
> 
> Also, Hejaran is the name of a noble family that's part of House Mecetti, that ruled the Mecetti province in the Tapani Sector. Pella comes from a very obscure off-shoot of the House, one that's barely noticed by the more higher-up members of the family. The family is known for being very, very arrogant and outspoken as to their place. Which is pretty much why I chose that name for this role, lol.


	82. Jewl'a Nightbringer

_Anger rode her hard, the way those old myths said demons rode the backs of the souls they tormented. She burst from the cold alleys and corners of her world to confront them all -- every one of the blighted criminals and gang members who so mangled her young life. She reaped a path of destruction through them all. Until men ran from her name alone, or from mere whispers that she was approaching._

_It was an Exchange boss who sponsored her into the Great Hunt. Oh, she was good. She was so dark and utterly dangerous. She allowed no one of her challengers to survive. She met all of them with her horned head upright, mocking and jeering them even as they died. Only because she despised them - these Mandalorians with their damned code and their supposed honor. She hated them for breaking her world, for loosing upon it the hunger and the deprivation that allowed the gangs to grow so strong. She hated them entirely; so she met them with bitter retribution at every chance._

_But it was never enough. No one she beat, no one she overcame, no bit of vengeance she inflicted was ever enough. Even victory, even hearing them call her Champion. She remained that shattered girl angry at the entire Mandalorian universe, with all its pretentious honor-bound fighters. It didn't matter how much she spit at them, or how often she mocked them. It never made a difference, never made her feel better. She dueled them constantly, with ready confrontations over the slightest offenses._

_In the end, she hated them because they didn't hate her back. She hated them because they_ honored _her._

_The fools._

* * *

They lopped off her left horn first. Oh, they tried to make it seem like some sadistic game, or like they enjoyed the effort. They even laughed as the blood ran down from her forehead into her eyes.

It didn't matter whatever taunt they sneered towards her, though. They just didn't fool her in the least. She _knew_ they were serious from the start. So all of their efforts were mere business, is all. At least to them. It was only a job; one with a very defined goal. They were trying to produce a careful product, and her pain was merely the process of going about the crafting.

It's why they broke her fingers one by one.  
It’s why they cut her red skin with methodical and shallow stripes.  
They were just determined to have her provide them their damn prize.

She did wonder if they knew zabraks handled pain so much better than most other species. Most likely, they did. They were very professional, these killers. Not like the ones who destroyed her childhood with clumsy and chaotic violence. No, these men who would kill her today were nothing like those lowborn slugs, those minor rats that came up out of the dregs when times were harsh and the people already struggled.

A sharp memory tore through her, the images blurring between her present and her past until her own pain seemed so much like those long-ago dark, murk-ridden shadows of her memory, even.

Like she was actually _there_ again. She could hear it, taste and smell it … Her mother begged them to stop -- to stop hurting her, please stop. To just make it stop. Jewla could taste the blood in her mouth again, the way it sat there so metallic and heavy, and she remembered the way she bit her lip as she curled in the dark space under her mother's bed, hard enough that blood filled her mouth thickly strong. But her mother’s begging and pleading didn’t stop them. They broke her into pieces. They hurt her and hurt her. Until her cries finally became whimpers and then slowly withered into silence that was broken by the men’s snorting disgust over her broken frame.

Jewl'a hid there in the dark alone long, long after the men went away. She listened for her for her mother to make another sound. But there was nothing, no sound and no more crying. Her mother was gone and she was left on her own. She was alone.

Jewl'a survived those monsters. But she wouldn't survive these assassins today.

She turned her head now, ignoring them for the moment. She knew they wouldn't allow her to ignore them very long. But for just a brief moment, she didn't want to think of them. She certainly didn't want to give them the satisfaction of hearing her fucking _beg_ like her mother begged. The bastards deserved it about as much as the thugs who killed her mother deserved to hear her crying.

So she turned away, looking towards the brightly painted wall on the far side of the room, with its garish red color and fancy wall hangings. Just hours before they were gathering around the table and arguing over the bottles of liquor on the long surface. Before it all exploded into violence. Now she could see Bloodworthy splayed wide across the table in an ugly pool of bright, red blood.

There was irony in that, she thought. Considering his name, at least. Hell, the blood around his head just kept spreading out from the holes in his face in one terrible circle. But that hardly mattered, either. Because he showed them his worth. He showed them how he earned the damned title of champion. When they came bursting through the doors it was Bloodworthy who reacted fastest. He spun himself into a crouching battle stance and fired towards their attackers. Bloodworthy’s first shot sent one of the agents reeling into the doorframe itself, hard enough the surface of wall around him cracked. He didn't even stop, though. Ten of the fuckers were down on the ground and screaming before Bloodworthy caught a blaster bolt with his throat and bent over choking. They finished him with several methodical shots to the head, then.

Now Jewl'a looked at his body, with his face turned sideways on the table so that he seemed to nearly lay there staring at her. Bloodworthy’s brown eyes were dull and lifeless, and all she could think right then was how he crowed of the newest champion. He cheered her, "You might have convinced me taking down Cadera on Taris was a chance thing - sheer luck. But Vause, too? No, Jewl'a. This one’s as worthy as I am, mark my words." Jewla actually sneered at him when he sang over Kastiel’s achievements.

But deep down she admitted that Kastiel was the first Mandalorian she met she actually _liked_. Kastiel was just as adamant, just as determined as Jewla herself ever was; she didn’t back down, she didn’t give up, and she fought like she was a veritable weapon all herself. Not that Jewla would ever say anything like, “I like her,” to anyone and not ever. She actually reminded herself Kastiel was only _adopted_ ; she wasn’t born a Mando. Although Mandalorians wouldn’t see any difference, either.

Hey, Bloodworthy would’ve said he died well. Jewl'a snorted so a trail of mucous splattered her upper lip, thinking he likely would have bragged over cups of black ale how he kept them from making a prize out of his dying. Except he fucking died. And instead of Bloodworthy's boasting refrain, she could only lay there listening to them rage over his corpse on the table, shouting at each other, "Damn you! We needed him alive, to convince her to give herself up! Now the only one left is the Zabrak! Fuck!" That’s how Jewla learned Defenestrator was gone, too. Stupid piece of junk proved as worthless as any one of them, and herself included. Bah! Defenestrator sent explosions that helped kill a good half dozen of the bastards, and her own pistols killed even more. They _still_ came through the doors – and how many fuckers did they have that could be poured into the fight? Jewla roared out her frustration at the very end, bitterly furious they reduced her down to being nothing but fucking bait. Bait! She was going to die here, in this shit-hole of a world and surrounded by a bunch of bastards who figured to use her dying just to trick someone she liked into dying, too. What a blasted waste.

Figures it would be a Mandalorian they really wanted. Jewla actually smiled loopily at the thought, still staring across the room towards Bloodworthy’s dead gaze. Circles. Everything moves in circles, always coming back around on itself. And Jewla sighed, blinking over the absurd maudlin direction her last thoughts were spinning.

"If you find something amusing, by all means ... share."

She blinked again, oh so slowly. The voice was melodious, tempered carefully to cozen the weak-willed into believing the speaker might be convinced of mercy. She thought of telling them she wasn't so pliable, to be broken so simply. But instead, she chuckled past the blood leaking down from her forehead into her mouth: “You really believe you're better than the Mandalorians you want punished because they killed your stupid Jedi. That this is some kind of justice. How fucking hilarious is that?"

That's when they took the next horn from her head.

* * *

Kastiel pressed herself against his frame as she slept, curling into his chest like a little kitten. She even purred. At least that's what Torian liked to call the little humming noise she made in her sleep.

He idly pushed a thick strand of her hair back from her face so that he could see her better, and he smiled when she pulled her plump lips into a mew of upset over the slight disturbance. She didn't wake up, though, and he wondered how difficult her sleep had been while he was gone. Torian frowned, examining the soft skin just beneath her implants for any gray bruises that came from lack of sleep. But her skin was its normal pale creaminess, all soft and delicious-looking. Torian relaxed backwards against the bed, cradling her against him.

Another one of those absurd kiosks slid by the window outside. Torian glanced towards the expanse of glass, bemusedly wondering how many of the floating advertisements existed in the city. He would have said he hated them, except that the things passing by provided the most incredible splash of colors over Kastiel's skin when she kneeled over his hips the night before.

He sighed as he remembered it. Remembered the way he clasped her hips in his hands, guiding her movements and thrilling at the way her skin ghosted creamy hues of red and blue and green there in the dark as the kiosks whisked by the wide windows nearby. She eventually gasped her satisfaction, her head tossed back as she cried out his name, accepted the way he gripped her hard and spilled himself into her, before she finally dropped down onto his chest. He just held her, basking in her liquid warmth as he watched the colors swirling over the soft expanse of her back while she drifted into lazy sleep there on top of him.

Torian nuzzled her now, butting his nose against the hard implant tucked inside the shell of her ear. Kas drowsily murmured to him as she slowly came awake, "Bloodworthy'll be pissed we're late again." Torian smiled, climbing out from the bed to stand nearby as he began stretching through his morning exercises.

He grunted, "Don't think he'll wait for us, though. He just might drink down all the ale before we walk through the door." Kastiel ignored his routine pointedly. They were already running behind schedule, and it didn’t matter how much she wanted to yank him back down into the middle of the twisted coverings on the bed. Torian watched the play of emotions across her face, and smiled knowingly as she leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve her commlink. He concentrated on his routine, rather than watch her pert nipples disappear beneath the tunic she yanked over her head before she activated the device.

Just in time, too. Tobie's holoimage appeared over the link so fast, Kas was startled in the middle of yawning. Kastiel frowned, wondering if Blizz had fiddled with her commlink recently. She rubbed the last bits of sleep from the corner of her eye as she considered the likelihood. Blizz was danged good at keeping himself from being noticed, at least. But she knew he spent countless hours “fixing” every small piece of armoring, mod, and machine on the Bad Boy.

Tobie grinned at her through the even-more-clear-now projection, and his eyes glittered at her with satisfied amusement, "You really slept. I knew the boy was good for something."

Kas actually blushed. She grumbled and glanced sideways, towards Torian’s rote motions in front of the yawning window and the colored lights that outlined him in brilliant hues, "No need for stories about birds or bees, Tobie."

Tobie chuckled with real humor, "I certainly hope not, if you went and married the damn Mandalorian. Your brother wasn't over-happy about missing the wedding, by the by." She noted the slight hesitation in his voice when he mentioned Gaibriel. The years they spent looking for Gaib flashed through her memory; the angry refrain Tobie would give her whenever they came so close and only found another bill of sale that meant her siblings were sold off, far away again – and always the fear the Hejarans would find Gaibriel and Camiel first. It ached in her remembering, and it hurt.

"Mandalorian wedding vows aren't shared publically. Gaib’s planning to meet us later. That’s half the reason we’re doing it off at that fancy-assed Star Cluster Casino place … Should be drinks enough during the celebration that he’ll be fine. How'd your meeting him go?" Kastiel leaned forward slightly, betraying her concern. Tobie smiled at his fosterling, at the anxious frown that curled her brow over her dark eyes.

It wasn't that she doubted his capability to ease her brother's angst when it came to anything remotely Imperial, he knew. And there was no hiding Tobie's Imperial origins, either. Kastiel's skill at minimalizing her accent wasn't one she could teach him, Tobie finally insisted years earlier. No, she was only that protective of her baby brother, Tobie thought. Typical of her. Tobie murmured thoughtfully, rather, "Gaibriel is ... unique, Kas. I don't know why I supposed he'd be more like Lucian. At least, more like Khyriel. But he's completely different from the lot of you. Not that I’m overly surprised he was able to survive, either. _That's_ the strength Lucian made in each of his children." He shook his head, his eyes turning liquid with regret, "I'm so sorry, Kas. I know it bothers you, even now ... I didn't ask, didn't have to. The Empire's a cruel world for a small child left to fend for himself. And Camiel ...?"

"Gaib is looking into it. Apparently Jedi're worse than the Sith when it comes to family ties," Kastiel sneered, pulling her nose into a pugnacious twist. Tobie smiled wryly.

"Don't let your aversion color your view of all of them, Kas. Not now."

Kastiel shrugged, "Can't help but judge them by what they've shown me. And their damned lectures of justice and righteousness fall flat whenever I’m on the receiving end of their hypocritical nerfshit."

* * *

Jewl'a coughed shallowly, pulling the blood back against her throat rather than spit it all over her chin. Although she couldn’t begin to explain why she even bothered. Her whole damned face was saturated with the stuff, and she had long since lost count of the trails it made as it streamed down from the top of her head. Still, Jewl’a fought against gagging on the blood pooling in her mouth, and she swallowed heavily. Maybe it had something to do with impressing this bounty hunter one more time. She turned her brilliant blue eyes up towards the hunter's dark ones, stared at her. She snarled at Kastiel, "Fucking figures I'd die in the arms of a Mandalorian. Somewhere the gods are laughing their asses off."

Kastiel's mouth twitched in response, "I figure the gods are pissing their pants, rather. All of them are trembling at the thought of you invading their realms. You'll beat them into shape, Jewl'a." Jewl'a actually laughed, although the sound was roughly harsh. The zabrak woman was trembling, shaking hard as she lay there on the floor with her bleeding head propped up on Kastiel's knee. But it didn’t change her steadiness, not really. She met her death face-first, her eyes wide open and ready.

Jewl’a looked at Kastiel, almost spitting her words through blood-stained teeth, "They never saw you coming, the damn fools. They wanted me to tell where you were ... how to find you." She chuckled, "They wanted to know where you were _from_ , even. Idiots don't even know that much. Isn't that worth laughing over?" Torian loomed over Kastiel's back and Jewl'a glared up at him. All that traditional Mandalorian maleness and bullshit, she thought one last time. But she smiled as she caught sight of the bloody end of his electrostaff, all the same.

They killed the bastards. Really damned poetic, that.

Jewl'a sighed, slanting her gaze towards Bloodworthy's broken body again. She growled angrily, "They were ... my friends, hunter. That fucking Jedi killed my friends. They called him Master Seros ... You'll make him pay! Swear it!"

Kastiel nodded firmly, " _Haat, ijaa, haa'it_."

Jewl'a glared at her roughly, "Stuff that Mandalorian shit. And swear it!"

"I swear, Jewl'a," Kastiel barked back at her. Then she smoothed a single hand down the bloody curve of the zabrak woman's cheek, carefully clearing away the trails of blood with her gloved fingers until her own hand was bright, wetly red. She watched Jewl'a's fiercely glittering eyes slowly dim and listened to her gasping breaths slow. Kastiel held her, leaning back against Torian's firm legs as he stood behind her firmly. She sighed softly when the last of the zabrak's spirit drifted away, slowly lowering Jewla’s head down to the blood-stained carpet before climbing to her feet. She glanced around.

The once bright, gaily strewn room was a smoking ruin. Several small flames still rose up from the sparking metallic frame that was once the Defenstrator, in fact. Blaster bolts had pockmarked lines along the red-painted walls, while torn curtains fluttered against the shattered windows.

Torian toed the body of one of the attackers, until the dead man tumbled over onto his back to stare sightlessly up towards the ceiling. Torian examined the features of the human's face, grunting, "Probably SIS. They weren’t wearing uniforms, though. There’s nothing to mark them as Republic." He looked towards Kas. His gaze sharp and direct, "They attacked the _Mando'ad_ , here. Whether they managed to take you or not, even. But they were _our_ Champions. The clans will scream in anger over this!"

Kastiel stood silently, carefully scanning the room. She remembered it all -- every shape and sound, every smell there that she could detect. Then she activated the holoterminal, breathing slowly. "You wanted my attention. So I won’t deny you what you keep asking for … Not anymore. I'll give the fight you want so much, then. Maybe it will be enough to keep every Mandalorian in the worlds entire drumming for your damn Jedi head. Maybe." Kastiel held up her hand, her blood-soaked palm straightly forward, swearing angrily, "We call it _skira_. Vengeance! And unlike your twisted notion of justice, Seros, which you'll never have ... I'll get my _skira_."

* * *

... Gault tumbled into the pilot's chair of the Bad Boy, yelling out wildly, "Blizz! Get your tiny rodent's ass up here. We're leaving!" He fired the engines, barking into the comms that the ship was leaving dock. Shouts sounded from outside the ship then, and Gault leaned forward to view the doors of the hangar bay through the bridge’s viewscreen. The Cartel’s men had little respect for the angry demands to turn the Bad Boy over to Republic control, though, and they shoved the Republic’s men backwards from the doors. Gault was amused enough by the altercation, and he trilled through the comms to explain, "I'm terribly sorry, but all my supplies of Booster Blue and Neutron Pixie have already been sold. I'm grateful for your interest. Please check with me at a later date. Oh, and have a nice day!" He grinned widely and waved at them through the viewscreen with his middle finger as he maneuvered the ship out from the spaceport.

... Corso mashed the buttons of the navigation console as the Freedom's Way slowly rose and glided towards the spaceport doors. Mako leaned over his shoulder, close enough her breath skittered against the lobe of his ear as she examined the galaxy map. He shuddered, muttering from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on guiding the ship, "Always wanted to rescue you, you know. Just never thought I’d be saving you from a crazy-ass Jedi chasing you through the streets of Nar Shaddaa." Mako chuckled, glancing over her shoulder towards the doorway leading to the main deck of the ship where she could make out Kastiel, pacing back and forth and arguing with Gaibriel. She murmured into Corso’s ear, "I still think it's sexy as hell." Corso coughed and shifted roughly against the navigator’s chair.

... "Hopefully, you'll receive this transmission beforehand, Cam. Your task is extraordinary, after all. Master Seros should have remembered the defeat of the Sith Emperor is of greater concern, than your chance to capture a bounty hunter on Hoth. His concerted focus on that hunter is a troubling matter, actually ..." Brye rubbed his aching forehead as he continued recording the communication, and he sighed. He glanced up when he noted movement from the corner of his vision and he looked sideways, in time to see Nadia's back as she furtively skipped around the edge of the door. Steam rose from a cup set on the surface of the desk closest to the door, he saw. He smiled slowly.

... Pella Hejaran snarled meanly as she considered the various reports and transmissions regarding the bounty hunter she had gathered. Her thoughts were scattered and dark things, as she seethed over the long years Lucian’s bastard daughter kept living – she should be dead! That simple truth sent Pella into more than one raging fit. She tossed a carafe of hot caffa through the air at one point, splattering the back of one of the serving girls. The scalded female screamed shrilly for several thrilling minutes. It was the only satisfying moment of Pella’s long morning, actually. Now Pella only glared down at the reports scattered across the table, and she fumed. Because not even the heady price she put on the woman’s black-haired head convinced the toughest hired killers she could afford to move against Lucian’s chit of a daughter. They just laughed at her. Laughed! “You want me to take on the bounty hunter the _Mandalorians_ call a champion? You’re out of your mind!” Pella growled in frustration. She would have to find someone who hated Kastiel as much as she did … and then she needed to talk to Khyriel. Her nephew needed to finally prove his worth, to show them his birth wasn’t the wasted thing Karen always called it. Khyriel had to kill this mongrel-bitch!

... "He’s called Gault Rennow. At least that’s the name of the Devaronian you’re describing, Cipher. Although he's not connected to anyone in the Republic. That we know of, at least. You must indicate if that’s changed, mind you. In the meantime, Gault Rennow is linked to the clans, rather. He’s a known associate of a Mandalorian bounty hunter, a rather audacious female who’s come up on several reports over the past two years. She’s the adopted daughter of the Mandalore himself, which would make her Clan Lok. Kastiel is her name. From all accounts ... she’s not someone you want to antagonize."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jewl'a Nightbringer's story is best described in the "Star Wars: The Old Republic Encyclopedia". She was born on Coruscant, and barely survived the Mandalorian Blockade of her world and its aftermath. I've always supposed that's what made for her caustic attitude towards Mandalorians, basically.
> 
> Some Mando'a terms and phrases:  
> (1) Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it - "Truth, Honor, Vision", said when sealing a pact  
> (2) Skira - settling scores, revenge, or feud. Not just vengeance, more personal


	83. Black Listing My Name

" _The victims of this attack included an envoy to Nar Shaddaa from the Jedi Order, Adeline Marr. A Knight renowned for her efforts to foment peace throughout the galaxy, Marr was on Nar Shaddaa to negotiate peace with the people of that world! This attack on her and her delegation was unprovoked. And uncalled for! She and her guards were brutally cut down well beyond any hopes of healing. There were no survivors to emerge from that denizen of violence and cruelty, except for one - the perpetrator of the attack herself! She lured them into an ambush and then slaughtered them without remorse!_

_Do not be fooled! This bounty hunter is a cold, calculating killer. Her vile crimes against innocents on numerous worlds is well-documented! Citizens are warned, that to take action against this hunter is at great personal risk, and not a choice to be taken lightly. Rest assured, my office will support any of those willing to assist in the apprehension of this criminal._

_Senators, I can not stress the priority we are putting to bringing the perpetrator of these violent actions to swift and ready justice. Put your fears aside - my finest teams are working to resolve this situation! It will not be long before we are once again safe from such barbarous cruelty_."

\- Formal Address of Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, Dorian Janarus, to the Galactic Senate following the murder of a combined delegation of Jedi and Republic officials to the Hutt world of Nar Shaddaa by the bounty hunter known as Kastiel Lok.

* * *

"Torian Cadera."

Torian breathed in slowly as he turned around. The light from the central fire of the _Oyu'baat_ reflected off Artus' armor, casting it nearly red-gold as the Mandalore loomed there over their table. Artus had crossed his thick muscled arms across his chestplate, too, so that he looked like some great stone-faced statue stretching high over their heads.

Torian lowered his cup down to the table. The sweet nutty-flavored Black Ale inside the cup sloshed near the lip as it bumped the surface of the table, but Gault huffed at him and gently tapped the cup along the top to keep it from tipping. Blizz ignored them both, in favor of staring up at the yawning tower of the Mandalore from where he’d been jumping next to the table for several long minutes. And all of the loud conversations around them - even the raucous calls and jeers from the gathered warriors arguing over the latest bolo-ball match showing on the nearby holoscreen - all of it gradually tapered off into an expectant silence, as the varied Mandalorians stopped to watch Artus Lok call for Torian Cadera.

Torian hoped for acceptance; not accolades or reward. Simply acceptance, and from his own people. Or he was only still that boy standing on Geonosis, who was turned away from the stories the old men spoke to the young people. The Mandalore might finally give him that much. He might. But the anxious _wanting_ in Torian’s stomach twisted again as he turned to face Artus Lok all over again. 

Kastiel didn’t worry so much. Not even when Torian wondered aloud if Mandalore would be angry that she married him. She just smiled at him and snorted with the softest amusement, "Bah! Just don't let him talk you into a drinking match when you see him. And don't let him tell you he won that one during my _Gai Bal Manda_ , either!" She was secure in her own place, because she won it through challenge and battle.

Torian could never be so casual about finally meeting the Mandalore. It was enough to know he would meet him, and directly. Artus _would_ confront the warrior who married his _ad_ ; it was expected, and understood. So Torian’s stomach knotted steadily. But he patiently raised himself up to stand there in front of the man his wife called _buir_. Gault chuckled as he joked Mandalore would “bust up the wedding”, but Torian shook his head. He wouldn’t lose Kastiel. The thing was done -- Kastiel was his.

Torian just didn’t want to see the pain of insult in her eyes. He didn’t want to see her lift her chin like she didn’t care or how the chocolate of her gaze only went dull and lifeless whenever someone questioned her worthiness. He especially didn't want to know it was his own name that earned the insults which caused such a look on her face. So Artus' acceptance was essential, he thought, and he stood up.

Torian’s eyes narrowed as he lifted his chin, waiting. But the Mandalore just nodded at him, sliding his gaze in obvious judgment up and down Torian's frame. Gault suddenly belched, loudly, so the noise trebled up through the air. Artus twisted a wry grin towards the devaronian and chuckled, "There are times I wonder why she offered you a place on her ship. But you always manage to make me laugh. At least you’re worth that much, heh?” Several warriors choked back guffaws of laughter, too.

Gault gasped dramatically, holding the flat of his hand against the center of his chest. He warbled, "Are you saying my sole purpose on this crew is for sake of entertainment? I'm crushed."

"No. I would never call it your _sole_ purpose. My own _ad_ isn't one to accept any but the most exceptional to fight alongside her, actually." Artus' chin lifted proudly as he looked back at Torian again, "Look at the man she's chosen to call _riduur_ , after all." Artus hefted the pack he was carrying, holding it out towards Torian. Then he inclined his head, gesturing, "I've made you a chestplate, Torian Cadera. To match the one I made for Kastiel already. Will you wear it?"

Several murmurs flitted through the taproom. Torian enjoyed the pleasing sensation for a long moment, the belonging that Artus offered to him -- he felt it sliding through his senses like it was medicine warming his insides. Or like a warm sweet, that melted deliciously far down in his belly. Torian swallowed and reached for the pack, murmuring, "I'll paint it myself." Mandalore grunted, "I'd be pleased to help you. Getting the tints right can be hard without a second pair of eyes."

Torian glanced at him, and he smiled carefully, "A smart man doesn't piss off his woman by asking for help from anyone else first." Laughter erupted, and several warriors called out wild exclamations, all of them spiced with sagacity and advice. Several women cheered him loudly, called him a smart man and insisted the other men follow his example.

Torian belonged to them – he was one of them, a part of the whole group gathered there right then, and he was accepted by each of them. They saw him and he was their own. The assuredness of their acceptance finally settled in him, the certainty of being one of the Mando’ad.

But he didn't speak any words. He only relaxed into the understanding, finally. Artus understood, watching him. Artus smiled at the younger Mandalorian, "So let's see if you can hold your ale better than Kastiel, heh. A challenge! We have friends stolen from us, that deserve our celebration and remembering. Let's drink!"

* * *

"You ruined it! You were on Quesh, too. Now I can't see him, damn you!"

Kastiel shrugged lightly as he stalked towards her, padding towards her on quiet, silent feet. She glanced down towards the soft soles of his padded leather boots. X wasn't so thin anymore. He actually filled out very well, really. New muscles in his legs and chest resulted from a healthier diet - as if he enjoyed spicy food, too. His skin was more bronzed than he perhaps ever enjoyed, too, from long hours he spent outside under the even light of the skies over Keldabe.

Then he jerked his head back, so that the thick shorn of black hair on his head fell back over the nape of his neck. Even cropped short around his ears, that dense length of his hair was a far cry from the brief tufts he kept in the prison where the Empire locked him away. Kastiel actually wondered over the incredible speed of X’ mending. It was nearly manufactured, she thought. It was a curious thing, and she sideways wondered what other medical advancements the Empire’s scientists might have made in some of its people. When they weren’t mucking around in their agents’ heads, at least.

X was agitated enough, he was very practically growling and pacing back and forth. Like a trapped animal, in a cage. Kas frowned over at him, just as he spun around to glare across the room at her, "You had no righ...!"

Kastiel’s chin snapped up sharply and her dark eyes narrowed dangerously in his direction. She lifted one of her hands, pointing emphatically at him as she yelled. Kastiel’s shout didn’t manage to go unnoticed the way X’ rumbling upset did, though. Actually, the sound of her angry voice reverberated in the brief office where X worked so methodically every day. Hells, the Mando warriors who spent their hours and days maintaining a watch over X subtly pressed themselves tighter to the walls of the place. As if they might disappear into the woodwork lining the space, if only they curled tighter together.

Kastiel was ramrod stiff and her eyes gleamed with terrible threat as she leaned forward so slightly, “Don't! You manage to get the last word of that sentence past your lips, Xavyer, and I’ll beat you to within a precious inch of your lousy life! You don’t dare question my rights where any of my siblings are concerned; do you understand me? He's _my_ brother!"

X stopped in the center of the room, clenching his hands into fists as he stared down at the floor to avoid the confrontation implicit in every line of Kastiel’s form right then. It wasn’t guilt or remorse that tightened his features, and Kas knew it. He was hardly afraid of her, either. The fucker likely had some elaborate plan he could effect, if Kastiel ever really frightened him, mind you.

It was more, that he simply didn’t feel anything the way a normal human being might manage. His emotions were brilliantly strange and unique things, until he was very nearly some odd, complex machine even more than any sort of human. He told her once – only once – that his origins weren’t natural. “I was made in a laboratory, hunter. I served a carefully designed purpose. When that purpose was done, I was put into storage and pulled out only whenever I became useful again. All of us serve, somehow. All of us. And right now, I am serving here.” Kastiel thought he was some weird automaton. Except he was fighting to be free of his controllers, is all.

So she couldn’t guess what kind of passions were driving him, or what decision he was working to reach just then. She only watched him, her dark eyes spitting fiery threat towards him as she waited for him to choose. And only finally, X loosened his fingers and inhaled so much slowly. He glanced over towards the ever-present warriors along the walls before returning his gaze to the bounty hunter, and he leaned close so that only Kastiel could hear him, “I care for him. Damn it.”

So now Kastiel frowned at him. She relaxed backwards, dropping back onto the heels of her boots as she pondered the expressions on his face. When he told her to call him Xavyer – just "some sort of real name, at least” – Kastiel conceded there was more to him than rote robotic manners and cold, hard intelligence to obscure dark memories. But taking a real name was as much manipulative as anything else Imperial Intelligence would have input into his brain, too. For agents, every word and gesture could be little more than elaborate games designed to keep their opponents from guessing what the end-goal really was, and X was always, always an Imperial agent.

He wanted, maybe even needed for Kastiel to relax her protectiveness where her brother was concerned. And he just didn’t realize there was more than a glimmer of impossibility attached to the manipulation. Because he didn’t know yet, that protecting her brothers and sisters was, to Kastiel, right up there with eating food and breathing air. Oh, and loving Torian, too.

He didn’t know protecting them all was practically a _part_ of her. So he couldn’t manipulate her in this regard. Not really. He might eventually understand. For now, Kastiel only snorted at him, “You don’t strike me as a man who’d mistake love and caring in some minor act of sex, Xavyer.”

Xavyer really did exhale what amounted to a bored sigh, "Please, hunter. As if I would ever be such a fool." He spun on his heel, moving towards one of the nearby consoles when its buttons began blinking in steady synchronization. He spoke to her over his shoulder, "This has nothing to do with any sort of fondness on his part, either. I imagine I could lie dead and bleeding at his feet, and he'd barely notice except to step over me. It simply doesn't matter. I needed to care about something, and he walked in the door. That's all there was to it, really."

"You are perhaps the strangest man I've ever worked with, you know." Kastiel sighed as she stood there, staring at his back while he leaned over to work at the console. He hummed at her as he concentrated on the readouts in front of him.

"I have no doubt of it, either. Although you’re quite young, as well. Given time, you may find far stranger creatures in this galaxy. Some of them, I could even describe to you today. They’ll likely find you before long. Considering how closely they’ve started watching your motions, at least. Oh, you're very worthy of attention, Kastiel Cadera." Then Xavyer stabbed the console with a stiff finger, “But I will not share that sort of information with you, not after you’ve shut me out from watching him. Damn you! How did you even manage such a thing? My implant was so precise!"

"I didn’t have to muck around with your device, though. And don’t think I didn’t notice how it must’ve fucking hurt him, to get the thing placed right along his damned spine like that!”

"Not you? I assumed it was your surgical expertise that managed it … But how, then?" Xavyer canted his head to the side as he considered the puzzle. It didn't take him long; she knew it wouldn't. Kas stepped closer when his head came up and he turned around to face her again, the understanding filling his gaze as he looked over at her. Xavyer breathed out, "Gaibriel Duncan, then. I wasn't certain you'd be able to convince him to act in defense of the agent, actually. Gaibriel’s antipathy for the Empire is becoming something of a legend in the underworld. He’s quite nearly as fascinating to watch as Khyriel."

"They’re brothers. Politics is only nerfshit, up against that much."

The bounty hunter truly believed what she was saying, X realized. Not for the first time, he marveled at the value she applied to such bonds. He was serious, when he described his assumptions about Gaibriel’s loyalties. But if he was wrong about the smuggler, then perhaps he had misjudged the agent, as well. It was worth real consideration, and his mind swirled with several potential equations he might use to figure out the complex puzzle.

Because somehow – hunter, smuggler, and maybe even Sith and Jedi – but they all showed a level of personal loyalty and care for each other that transcended the most strong and powerful dogmas and political mantras. If they were all similarly intent, then it was purely extraordinary. As if learning they shared the same father was all it took. Just that much, and all other loyalties, all other ties became secondary. Friends and lovers alike were simply gathered up into the bond, almost like they were extensions of whatever sibling they were close to, in fact. Xavyer had never seen anything like it before, not in anyone he had observed and monitored over all the years he'd watched. It wasn’t normal and almost ... manufactured. Someone made them like this, he thought.

Xavyer frowned thoughtfully, "It was Gaibriel who created the means to neutralize my device."

"Yes,” Kastiel’s brow furrowed as she watched him. He knew she was intentfully judging him, every nuanced expression and motion of his body. Kastiel sized up her opponents more from their body language, than anything they said to her. “I actually thought you would’ve seen it, before Quesh. That was our only real concern."

"That's why you didn't activate it."

"No. It wasn't activated, because your assistance ... your role was still necessary. Khyriel didn’t need you anymore, after he finished on Quesh."

"But you do.” Xavyer drummed his fingers along the upper half of his thigh, thinking aloud more than anything, “That’s why you haven’t removed me from Mandalore, not even from this room. You continue to regard me as useful enough."

Kastiel only shrugged.

The message was clear enough, though. Xavyer knew his device wasn’t removed from the agent’s back, even if the signal he received from the thing was dreadfully silent. She kept him close, right here in the city of Keldabe and surrounded by troop after troop of Mandalorians. Then she gave him machines and devices to play with, and watch through. Kastiel did it, because she was still protecting all of them, and Xavyer himself was only another tool she used to effect it.

Oh, he could venture outside, where the sunlight gleamed against the brilliant sky over the city. He could sit in the _Oyubaat_ and listen to the warriors singing drunken tunes. He could watch the various Mandalorians practicing bolo-ball in the courtyard fields and he could even enjoy friendly company on occasion. And so what if his every single step was monitored and reported to Kastiel?

This world offered him more freedom than he ever enjoyed among his own so-called family in the Empire. He cringed back from even thinking the word, and he concentrated on Kastiel again, "You need my assistance, though. That’s why you’ve come to see me today."

Kastiel gripped her belt with one hand, tapping against the handle of her blaster with a slow, habitual motion. She explained, "I need you to tell me everything you can about a Darth Tormen, actually. He's requested a meeting with me."

* * *

" _Tormen's only real passion lies in war. He's ruthless when he engages an enemy - don't expect any respect for them from him. For him, it's all about breaking and even utterly crushing anyone who tries to oppose him. He has no bit of tolerance for weakness, no patience for your politics or ideology. For him, it's all mere claptrap, noise that keeps him from annihilating anyone and everyone who gets in his way_."

Kastiel watched the Imperial ships taking shape through the viewing screen. Torian stepped closer, until his chest very nearly brushed against her back. She unconsciously leaned backwards against him, and then she glanced over her shoulder at him, "I need you on the turrets, Tor. Keep the targeting computers on standby." Mako glanced back at her from the pilot's seat, frowning.

"Hey, I thought you were feeling good about this, Kas. Is it a trap, do you think?"

Gault chuckled, "If it is, we'll make the galactic record here, for going from hyperspeed to space dust."

"So not funny, Gault. Sheesh."

Kastiel held her hand out, still considering as the Imperial starship became bigger and bigger against the viewscreen. Her mind was tumbling along, through every bit of information she’d gathered about Darth Tormen. Kastiel didn’t like being in such a needful position. Tormen was either intent on using the price on her head as a club to coerce her into service. Or he was angling to cash in on the prize her head was right now. Either way, she was being used and manipulated. At least Xavyer was fairly certain Tormen intended to use her as a cudgel, rather than a blasted bank draft, Kastiel sniffed in a soft snort. “ _The Republic may be foolish enough to lock you away out of misguided notions of justice. But the Empire is more likely to throw you at the Republic just for that much sheer stupidity. It’s only your independence that challenges the Sith, mind you_.”

Torian looked towards their Jawa crewmember, and he gestured with his chin, "Blizz, get the shields." Blizz rushed towards the console, chattering, "Oh! Get to try out modifications now."

Kas frowned over at the tiny figure, watching as Blizz got down on all fours to tinker with the wiring under the terminal. He was still muttering as he worked, pointing out all the changes to Torian. She turned towards Mako, "When did we get work done on the shields?" But Mako only shrugged, looking utterly bewildered.

Blizz glanced back at Kastiel over his little shoulder, "Blizz make lots of improvements to Boss' ship. Make thermostat work right, add stool to refresher and sink, clean shield emitters. Lots of stuff!"

Kastiel raised a single eyebrow, "You put a stool in the refresher?"

Blizz nodded his hooded head. "Very important! And galley, too!"

"Definitely important." Kastiel ignored Gault's tired complaint about Blizz' hygiene. Kas glanced back to the Imperial battle cruiser on the viewscreen in front of her, rather. She remarked, "Well, they're not shooting at us yet. Mako, follow the flight path they've transmitted. We'll dock where they tell us." Torian came to his feet slowly, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up alongside her. He raised his hand, touched her jaw softly as he leaned close enough to whisper to her, “ _Mandokarla_. The Sith will use us well. It’s what they always do.” She watched him pull his gloves over his hands and she nodded, before glancing one last time towards the viewscreen.

" _Don't think Tormen's dislike for subterfuge, that his tendency towards directness is any kind of honor. He desires only that his enemies be forced to submit, that they're completely crushed and demoralized. He'll use whatever means he has at hand to obtain the victory. There's no care, no concern in him. Not for anyone. Don't mistake him, hunter. He'll destroy you in a heartbeat, and care nothing for it afterwards._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never really understood the scene in the bounty hunter story where the crew worried where they'd go after being declared "Most Wanted" by the Republic and publically disavowed by the Empire. As Mandalorians, there was always Mandalorian space to hunker down in, after all. I decided I'd make Mandalore itself the scene for Kastiel's retreat, here.
> 
> The planet of Mandalore is the fifth planet from the sun in the Mandalore system. It was covered by dense natural forests, with its primary industries being farming and mining. Its capital city is called Keldabe. The city was an eclectic array of buildings situated on top of a flat granite hill. At its center was the Oyu'baat, a large cantina and hotel that Mandalorian clan leaders throughout history used as a meeting place over the years. The New Mandalorians would later proclaim the domed city of Sundari to be the capital of Mandalore. But Keldabe remained an important center of Mandalorian politics, such as they were.
> 
> Kastiel will eventually look to Keldabe as "home" more than any other place.
> 
> The term "mandokarla" means "you've got the right stuff".


	84. Puzzle Pieces

The girl scampered in front of him, trembling so hard she was practically stumbling in her haste. He eyed her backside thoughtfully, wondering if she was worth the effort required to calm her seeming distress. She actually skittered a single foot along the edge of white carpeting leading through the doorway, and hiccupped a brief sound of distress he wouldn’t have noticed except he was watching her right then.

Damned rug. Khyriel glanced down at the familiar length of thick, pale flooring and grimaced. He never did understand why it was always white. His own blood splattered the bland shades of carpet often enough, anyway. Surely it was tough to clean. But then he snapped his gaze back to the girl’s curves.

The sweet jiggle of her ass under that pale beige smock she was wearing was far more entertaining than any one of his memories, at least.

The female stumbled hard, suddenly. It was another rug, of course. Why did his aunt need so many of the damned things scattered across every blasted floor? He practically snorted as he saw this one was white, too.

Khyriel snatched the girl’s elbow and hauled her back against his side before she fell down in a terrible face-first collision with the floor. He didn’t think the carpet would save her from a bloody nose, even. And then she would have to clean that much white fabric, too. He doubted she would be allowed to fix her face beforehand.

"Sor ... sorry, my lord. Please!" Her brown hair shook loose into tendrils along the side of her head as she shivered in incredible fear and reared backwards to stand there, trembling. She hugged her arms around her own self, looking down at the floor precisely as she tried to seemingly disappear.

"Hush," Khyriel effected a properly charming smile. He wiggled his fingers in front of her, laughing softly, "I leave it to the Sith to toss lightning from their fingers. Call _them_ 'my lord'. Not me." She frowned as twisted a glancing look up at him from under her lowered brow. Khyriel waited patiently, smiling at her. He didn’t doubt she had experience enough to warrant the fear and anxiety lining every shaking curve of her small frame.

Servants in this household really did disappear, sometimes screaming as they went. Khyriel was able to boast that much at least, that they never made _him_ scream. But they did try making him disappear.  Behind him, Vector shifted almost imperceptibly. Only enough to remind him of his presence. To remind Khyriel he wasn't on his own, here - that he wasn't alone. Because of course the Joiner sensed his growing agitation, and never mind the lying smile on his face.

" _I don't understand, agent. They are your family, are they not_?"

" _Rather, they're the ones I used during my childhood to avoid the rain outside_."

" _I see ... no, I still do not understand, actually_."

" _Well. That's good, at least. I don’t want you to understand them, Vector. I’d rather continue_ liking _you_."

Khyriel’s smile suddenly became real enough, as he remembered the conversation during the walk up to the house's entrance. The warmth of his expression soothed her as he shrugged so softly, "Only show us the way, now." The girl relaxed. He perceived the careful easing of her neck and shoulders as she softened into pretty curves again. Oh, she was definitely a worthy enough distraction, he thought. If he was forced to spend the night here, at least.

His aunt totally ruined it, of course. The girl actually spun around and ran when Pella suddenly scolded him from the nearby doorway, fast enough her feet made brief pelting sounds against the tiled floors out from the doors.

"Khyriel,” Pella reprimanded him. “You were asked to attend here some days ago. And here I find you, dragging your feet through the very last doorways. Mooning over a mere bit of flesh, in fact. So typical of you."

Khyriel’s smile disappeared. He straightened slowly, pausing only to glance towards Vector very subtly and incline his chin. Vector nodded as he stepped back into the shadows and Khyriel turned around to face his mother's sister.

Pella Hejaran was small, of course. Like his mother had been, and like his sister was now, too. Not that he'd ever say so to Lusiel, either. That much indication of the blood they shared with the Hejarans offended Lusiel. Worse, it would hurt her. Neither one of them even liked to remember their mother, let alone grant Karen was anything worthy of the word.

But Lusiel was darker than their mother, too. Her long hair was black as a moonless sky and her eyes were huge and brown. Lucian’s eyes, set into a small, female face. Pella raged almost as much as Karen ever did, over how much both the siblings looked so much like their father.

Pella was a mirror image of her sister, rather. They might have been twins, the resemblance was that uncanny. Khyriel thought of his mother every time he clapped eyes on Pella Hejaran; which went far in explaining their shared enmity, maybe. At least today Khyriel finally noticed the beginning signs of age Pella couldn’t hide anymore. Her sunshine blonde hair was slowly turning grey, and the briefest lines were etching the corners of her eyes.

But her eyes were still large and round, and still purely gorgeous. Khyriel would've called them blue, except they were so pale to be almost silver. His mother had eyes like that, too. He had thought many times it was the glamour of such beauty which probably convinced his father to marry anyone from this cursed family.

Now there was a life lesson worth calling salient, Khyriel laughed silently to himself. Behind the most beautiful face could lie the most obscene morass of rot and filth. So don't trust in outward appearances. He murmured with amusement, now, "I hardly need to remind you of those obligations which occupy my time, aunt."

Pella frowned at him. He noticed she didn't invite him inside the office, either. He mentally sighed, if only because it was the best hint of all that whatever she wanted was going to offend him somehow. She avoided taking him in there when she wanted to cozen him in some way, when she was looking to wheedle some service from him. And that room always put him on the keenest edge, the memories of the space were so cruel.

She didn’t waste time before jumping to cajole him, either. Pella practically oozed at him, "This is family, Khyriel. We are hardly an obligation. And your ... what is it you call him, this servant of yours? He's not human, is he?"

Khyriel snorted tiredly, tsking at her, "I sincerely hope you didn't command me here to play at some illusion of care between us, aunt. Obligation has been the only thing to bind us in all the years of my life, here. That hasn't changed. And Vector is a Joiner, with the Killiks. A rather unique species, the Killiks. Only trust me, he's no servant of mine."

"I hardly think this discussion should be conducted in the presence of ... whatever he is to you. It could prove rather embarrassing for you, nephew," Pella inhaled with methodical care.

"Vector has seen me in any number of incredibly embarrassing circumstances, though. I'm hardly worried today," Khyriel loosed a soft laugh as he remembered the unique drone of Vector’s commentary as he followed behind him so often. The Joiner amused him. Which is precisely why he asked Vector to accompany him today, too.

"He's not family, though."

Khyriel sighed loudly and looked up towards the ceiling. He realized Pella had the lights along the ceiling replaced with fancy crystalline lines of shining illumination, and he wondered what world created such devices. "More illusory nonsense, aunt? Truly?"

Pella's lips thinned into the finest line. He enjoyed earning that expression, though. Her disgust proved he won the contest with her, where his continued refusal to play through her allusions and more pretty expressions of familial bonds finally needled her into pained upset. There was a precision to the contest, and it only ever occurred in public. Khyriel refused to march along through whatever farcical show Pella was trying to create, refused to be a doll in her puppet act or any sort of actor in her performance.

It amused him to see her lose control, in fact. Every twinge of her upset showed who was really in control of Pella’s balance. He used to hide from the chance his mother would lose control. But he deliberately prodded the limits of Pella’s temper at every possible turn.

It was a dangerous game, though. He had the scars on his back to show for it. Eventually he was old enough, and strong enough that there weren’t new scars laid over the old ones. And he still won over her at every chance.

Now Pella clenched her fists as she watched his mouth curve into a condescending smile, "Enough. You are needed."

He tilted his chin downwards so dramatically, "Such familiar phrases today. Perhaps we should record them, so I can listen to them in my leisure hours, as well. I couldn’t possibly be anymore amused to hear you say it over. And over again. Or I could just say the next line for you, even: 'If the allotments didn’t stop with your last breath, you'd be tossed outside these doors, you little wretch.'"

"You were lucky!"

"Another regular turn of words, aunt. Even the look on your face is familiar! Do you practice in front of a mirror, maybe?"

He smiled tightly when she started pacing from agitation. Pella likely wanted to strike back at him, if only she could manage it physically. But her damned husband wasn’t here, to hold him in place and beat him. Not anymore, at least. Goran was dead; and he owed a sincere debt to whoever was the man who killed him, too. But then Pella stopped, suddenly turning on her heel to glare over at Khyriel again. She snapped at him sharply, "The girl your parents were killed for is still alive."

Khyriel went still, his acerbic smile sliding from his face as he looked at her. Partly from the discomfort which came whenever he considered his parents’ deaths. It wasn’t something he ever discussed with Pella, though. Unless you counted the number of times she insisted if he was only a better son, maybe Lucian and Karen would have been spared the argument that resulted in them dying. "And here I thought they both died because Karen wasn’t good enough to throw herself out the window firstly. At least she might have left my father alone, anyway.”

Pella’s icy glare turned even more frost-like. "Don't speak of your mother with such disrespect."

"She whelped me. I can speak of her any way that I choose."

"How dare you!"

"Would you like me to teach you how it's done?"

Pella would have once claimed knocking Khyriel off-balance, enough he couldn't maintain the sardonic effusiveness of their ordinary exchanges, would prove a pleasing achievement. Except now she was discovering his sharp, bitter wit could be far more mean and terrible. She snarled under her breath and turned away from him. In fact, she began to pace around the small living space again, with Khyriel’s dark eyes following her to and fro. Pella bit out, "Your mother told me. She certainly didn’t address your father with her concerns, or her fears. You can't know how difficult it was for her, the choices she was forced to make. To preserve _your_ family, _your_ rights."

"She cared for me as much as you did, aunt. Which hardly says much." Khyriel leaned back onto the flat heels of his boots as he crossed his arms over his chest, "She killed my father, from spite more than anything. Not from any smidgeon of concern or value for me, nor even my sister, either. So do not play out this farce anymore than you already have, aunt – I was _there_ that night!”

Pella waved her hand in front of her, twisting her lips derisively, "Please. Whatever you saw that night was nothing but the broken understandings of a small child. In fact, there was a woman ..."

"Any man with sense has _a woman_! My father, oh of course, was a man with some sense. Much unlike my mother, mind you. She was crazed!"

"Shut up!" Pella was distressed enough she really did step closer to him, and she even raised up one of her clenched fists. Like she was prepared to actually hit him. Khyriel only waited, slowly blinking at her as she stumbled to a halt. She gulped in a steadying breath, fighting to control her impulses as she tottered on the balls of her feet and stared at him. Because she knew, _knew_ that a single blow would be enough to justify him striking back at her.

That damned Killik thing in the corner, Pella thought. The alien was probably recording this entire exchange!

Which meant Khyriel would claim self-defense when he struck back at her. Only his blow would be a lethal one! Oh, she knew him just well enough, to know he wanted to unleash such an attack, that he wished for it. The limitations on his actions were negligible things, and eventually he would find a way to excusably break free of them. But for now, he couldn’t act against her without earning censure from those in power over him.

Until then, her nephew remained useful enough. Pella counted her breaths for a moment, gathering herself once again and inhaling harshly before she forced the words past her clenched teeth, “That woman was going to expose the entire debacle of your father's indiscretions! She was going to tell them all how weak he was, to force them to acknowledge her damn by-blow children. It would've ruined us all! Karen did the best she could to stop it, to get rid of them. But that damn chit of hers, the oldest one ... she survived! Kastiel _lived_! It's unbelievable!"

Khyriel froze, his mind working incredibly fast, whirring like the computer he long imagined it to be. His eyes were like black stones in his face, like some sort of galvanized obsidian rock as he stared at her. He actually paused so long Pella wondered if he'd actually lost consciousness standing there. But then he murmured finally, "She survived what? How badly was she hurt?”

Pella choked out a laugh, “They were running away, of course. The whore tried leaving the planet, dragging her little bastards with her. Who knows where they would've gone, where they might’ve tried to hide. They would have come back eventually, of course. Your mother had to act so fast! She found some men and set them to the task."

“That’s why she’s deaf, why she’s marked with scars and implants ..." Khyriel mumbled as he glanced away. He looked over at Vector standing there, still and silent against the wall. The Joiner lowered his chin so subtly, assuring the agent he understood. It was the very last piece of the puzzle, that one slim answer that really did solve the entire mystery.

She hid herself surprisingly well, at least. Khyriel only barely managed to learn what _planet_ she called home to begin with, and that much only because he found her name on some of his father's financial records. Lucian called it “a charity”. Just a child he felt sorry for, after finding her orphaned and abandoned in the hospital where he was serving. Lucian never claimed her – except that now Khyriel remembered that night and his father yelling at his mother, “ _It’s because of you! You took them from me! They were mine_!”

Khyriel felt his skin tightening, as if all his blood was going cold and sludge-like moving through his veins. He stood there, frozen as he watched his mother’s sister pace back and forth again. He slowly rubbed the inside of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, considering the incredible simplicity of this … truth. How could he have been so stupid? Then he listened to Pella muttering and muttering. Like a broken holo-recording, "You've got to handle this, Khyriel. Think of the damage! To your sister if it becomes known! If anyone finds out ... and the estate ... this female! She can make claims! Think of how much wealth we could lose ..."

Khyriel bit his tongue against the curses he wanted to spit at her. He wanted to hit her and keep hitting her, and every time he thought that he had never wanted to hit her so much before he thought of the thick scars on Kastiel’s _face_. And he was so frustrated that he didn’t understand who she even was until this damn moment. Until he was standing _here_!

But Khyriel didn’t yell or rage. Not yet. He needed more information and Pella was still just that much useful. He even sounded calm when he directed her, "You said children, aunt. There was more than the one girl. Where are the others?"

Pella shrugged, apparently unconcerned, "The other two are gone, at least. They probably died along with their damn mother there at the spaceport. There were so many bodies, anyway. It hardly matters, mind you. What matters is getting rid of the problem at hand." She stopped, clasping her hands in front of her as she turned to face him, "You took so long to appear here. I had to act quickly, so I found a hunter, a professional. Someone she’ll trust to come close to her. You are to ensure it's finished once he locates her."

Up against the wall, Vector moved. Only the most slow and small impressions of motion. The Joiner emerged from the shadows and crossed over to stand just behind the agent. Vector watched the agent carefully throughout the exchange, judging every nuance of his aura as the conversation progressed. He only moved when he finally scented it there - saw it in the flaring power of aura that always shined around him. Pella was blind to those signals, Vector knew.

But Vector understood that Khyriel was fast losing control of the rage inside him. He never anticipated the friendship he would feel for the younger man, and never imagined the value of such a thing, either. It was real enough a thing, though, that Vector was the only one in all the months the agent struggled who saw and appreciated the terrible strain Khyriel endured just to maintain some semblance of himself and his own control. It was Vector who queried and questioned and prodded him – and never mind the many, many times Khyriel lied and swore there was no threat or bother.

Vector listened to the words and saw them for the untruth they were; they didn’t even need words by then. They communicated by mere glances, the most subtle inclinations of a head or shoulder, or even brief shifts of weight as they stood together.

It's why Khyriel looked over at him, now -- why he nodded firmly and knew that Vector would understand. They were leaving. Before he took an action that might prevent them from making some further use of the human female. Khyriel only looked back at Pella one last time and he held out his hand, "Give me the man's information."

"You will fix this, Khyriel!"

"Of course I will."


	85. The Hunter

_Torian shook his head in seeming exasperation. Then he reached across the table to lift the single one of Corso’s blacks braids from the inside of the cup where it had fallen and started to soak. "You’re supposed to drink the_ ne'tra gal _. Or are you hoping to take it along with you when you go? Interesting thought – wringing your braids for ale, I mean."_

_Corso jerked his head up from where he laid it on the surface of the table, blinking bemusedly and rubbing the side of his temple where he felt the most throbbing pain just then. He blurted loudly, "We there yet?"_

_Torian was confused. He leaned his head to the side as he regarded the wide open space of the_ Oyu'baat's _main taproom. The fire in the center of the room had burned low as the hours passed into the latest nighttime. But one young human dressed in tidy civilian clothes was just then pushing the burning embers back into shape again and several warriors ringed one of the tables on the far side of the room, still downing ale and quietly murmuring to each other. Torian grinned, "We’re not even moving, Corso. We aren’t supposed to leave till tomorrow, even."_

_"Pretty sure we're spinning around, actually. My head feels like it."_

_Torian grunted when Corso’s face twisted in pained upset, shrugging, "You shouldn’t have underestimated the_ ne'tra gal _. There's a reason Mandoes like it."_

_Corso glared blearily at him, his eyebrows cocked sharply over his black eyes, "Cause it knocks you on your ass?"_

_Torian nodded emphatically. "Of course. If all it takes is ale to knock you down, imagine how you’ll handle the blows a real enemy makes against you. Nothing should be easy or simple. Only challenging yourself at every turn will make you stronger."_

_Corso stared at him, bemused, "So wait. Even having fun is a test to you people? I swear, I'll never understand Mandalorians."_

_Torian turned serious again. He shifted his gaze sideways, towards Kastiel sitting in a hard, tall-backed chair she had yanked and pulled closer to the large windows that really did stretch all the way from the floor up to the ceiling. The sky outside was purple-bright, dark – and only the starlight highlighted the pale wash of her skin as she leaned forward in her seat. He wondered what she was watching for, or thinking right then._

_And then Artus reached over from his own chair alongside her to snatch up the cup of ale she left discarded on the small table in front of her. Kastiel yelped out an angry call, but Artus jerked the cup up to his face to gulp down the last of Kastiel’s ale. Then he yelled out loud enough to wake up the entire population of Keldabe, Torian judged. Artus guffawed, "I won again! Hah!"_

_Torian's gaze became honeyed and warm as he listened to Kastiel laughing with the Mandalore. Artus soothed the sense of upset that bothered Kastiel ever since Nar Shaddaa, the worry that tightened her shoulders and occupied her mind so badly. He gave her some brief moment of laughter, instead, and the anxious concern for her own people slid away just long enough._

_Torian glanced back at Corso, lowering his chin as he responded, “If a Mandalorian isn’t strong enough, they will not protect their clan, their_ aliit _. We wrap ourselves in strength, because when we don't... that's when everything's taken away from us." He looked back at Kastiel again, and he vowed, "I won’t let that happen."_

_Corso hiccupped loudly all of a sudden. Torian watched as the Mantellian flushed red with embarrassment, dropping his eyes down to look into the bottom of his cup. Corso muttered, "Sorry, then. Bout not being able to handle ... Hey, what the hell did you call this stuff again?"_

_"_ Ne'tra gal _. Black ale, in Basic."_

_"Ahhh. Yea, right." Corso glanced at the stairs that lead up and out of the room, grimacing. He figured that if he tried climbing those stairs he would likely end up even more humiliated lying in a heap on the floor than he was already. He might as well spit out what exactly was bothering him, then. So he blew out a huff of air before blurting, "Torian, tell me something. You think of Mako like she's part of your ..._ aliit _?"_

_Torian stared at him for a moment, studying the twists and curves of Corso's face. Corso had rough, blocky features framing almond-shaped eyes, with thick scars across both his cheeks that displayed the hard knocks he had taken as he went along. But he stayed steady and certain, with a powerful kind of loyalty that Torian admired. So Torian nodded at him methodically, "Kastiel loves Mako, like she might a young sister. If you're asking if I'd protect Mako with all the strength I have to offer, the answer's yes."_

_And that's when Corso finally looked satisfied. He actually straightened in his chair and pushed back his cup. He even smiled at Torian. Then his face went completely slack and he toppled forward until the very front of his head hit the surface of the table with a loud, pealing bang that reverberated through the room. Several Mandalorian cheers and laughter rose up through the air, while Torian chuckled and prodded Corso’s unconscious form._

_But Corso only started snoring. Loudly._

* * *

Parson had seen a Mandalorian man, once and years ago. The fellow was moving through the crowds of the marketplace in Kaas City – a big tough-looking figure of a man, with his face covered wholly by a helmet so that his race was hidden from sight. But his gloved fingers numbered five on the rifle he was gripping, so Parson assumed he was human enough. What truly fascinated him was the young boy following along behind him, though.

The boy wasn’t armored and he was definitely human, with deeply dark skin and large black eyes that sunk deep in his young face. The younger Parson thought he was nine or maybe ten years-old, only because he was nearly the same size as Parson himself was just then. The boy was wearing basic fighting leathers on his slender frame, but his tunic shifted so smoothly against his torso Parson knew he was accustomed to dressing like that. He didn't wear a helmet to cover his black-haired head, either. But he sported a long-handled dagger that hung low against his hip and when the man stopped to consider a weapons-vendor's wares it was the boy he pointed to for the purchase of a new blaster, too.

Parson asked his own father about them, curious. His father only sneered towards the Mandalorians, though: " _Mandalorians thrust weapons into their children's hands pretty much as soon as they can walk, actually. They don't think of family like you and I do, don't respect any planet or space as if it were home. It's what makes them so lacking, in basic decency even. In sheer manners! They're a brash, insolent people. They live only for the fight, for the next chance to beat on someone they consider an enemy. And that's usually the person you pay them to call enemy, mind you. Because they don't believe in anything_!"

That’s what Parson was thinking as he watched the bounty hunter step through the hangar doors now, and he watched her stop in front of him. The curve of her chin was thrust up in near arrogant tenacity and her booted feet were set slightly apart into a firm fighting stance. Parson realized the hunter had quickly and deliberately placed herself between him and her own people. Like she was a protective shield, maybe. She might as well have hung a sign around her slender neck, intoning, "Only through me, assholes."

Parson’s sense of offense became real enough, and he felt it sliding through his veins to settle like a leaden ball in his stomach. He was only insulted, that she was upsetting every idea and concept he always maintained about Mandalorians. And all from that one single look she offered to him as she canted her dark head sideways, and smirked. Because she obviously _believed_ in her people and her leadership of them.

Who was this creature, this wild thing that thought herself so much as good as the best Imperials marching to meet her? Didn't she appreciate her position, here? _She_ was the supplicant, the one who needed them! She was the one so easily disposed of, tossed to the dregs of the Republic maybe. Like a mere _thing_ \-- like nothing, even! Parson opened his mouth, preparing to confront the woman. And then the man stepped up to stand alongside her.

His position next to her was a glaring signal of his importance and his value. To her, firstly. Her stepping forward was a bold and forceful statement all on its own, anyway. He only echoed her motions, until it was equally strong and even additional to her own strength.

He was Mandalorian, like her. Parson’s lip curled along the corner, as he considered them standing there together. These people exposed their entire families to war and threat; they bought and sold themselves, for other people’s causes. Then they bragged of it, practically. It was there in the clinking sound the man’s shoulder armor made when it touched the hunter’s, and in the deliberate ghost of a smile the woman slanted towards Parson when she felt her man step closer to her, too.

The hunter stared at them for a long moment, examining the line of soldiers who filed in behind Parson. Then she acknowledged his rank simply, barely worried apparently, "Lieutenant." Parson frowned, looking past the hunter and her fellow Mandalorian to the others that milled in the doorway behind them. There was a small woman standing there, with implants speckling her brow. A Devaronian loomed alongside her. And …. A jawa? They all stood ready, stiff, and defensive. None of them were Mandalorians, but their loyalty to the Mando couple was practically a blaring declaration as they stood there, their weapons grasped close and strongly. Even the little rat in the Tattooine robes was hefting a rather large blaster pistol!

Who are these people, he wondered, bewildered. The entire lot of them looked and acted like a solid unit, like they all belonged together and fought well alongside each other. His own soldiers actually shifted with tense anxiety there behind him, clutching their rifles in rasping fingers that seemed to keep slipping. So much different than the hunter’s more motley assortment of team members, who seemed focused and intent on defending each other with capable assuredness. Parson’s soldiers only wanted someone standing in front of them, rather.

They all watched Kastiel, though. Everyone there was intent on the hunter, and Parson finally looked at her again.

She stood there unconcernedly, both her hands placed simply along the feminine curves of her hips. Her armor was roughly dark, mostly rich green. But it gleamed, like someone had burnished it with a bristled brush. The chestplate and leg pieces were edged with solid gold lines that spoke of intention and determination. Parson wondered if the colors had some particular meaning, or if the lines described some symbology. Since the man's armor matched hers so well, complete with the same lines even, Parson decided it was likely their armor was decorated with real declarations. The pair of them looked like a solid unit standing there, like two halves of one whole even.

Mandalorians.

The word seemed to quiver, there in the air between the hunter's crew in the hangar and the soldiers marching out to meet them. He could tell, could sense the ready anxiety that had his soldiers clutching against their rifles and subtly moving, shifting. Just to ensure, always, that someone else was standing in front of them. Out of the line of fire, that is. The hunter smiled softly, utterly aware of his men's trepidation, and he pressed his lips tight as he considered the stories they'd bandied over, to describe her, to describe this ... Kastiel.

She'd fought Sithspawn on Dromund Kaas.

Battled Jedi masters and won.

Confronted Imperial agents in the Citadel itself.

Slaughtered Hutt bosses in their own palaces.

Beaten real Sith down.

And won the notice of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.

For her "barbarous cruelty", no less.

But she was a Mandalorian. One of the mercenary wretches that lived outside the rule and order that the Empire assured, even as they depended on it for their sheer livelihood. The ones who defined enemy based on whatever credits their way, in fact. Parson snorted silently, offended he even had to face such a craven woman. And she didn't help, not when she shrugged her shoulders, "You guys want something, of course. I imagine your master is intent on spelling it out. So let's get to it, lieutenant."

Parson huffed a single breath at her sheer audacity, ignoring the nervous murmuring from the soldiers behind him as he leaned forward slightly. He would show them! There was nothing admirable about this hunter, damn it. Certainly not her damned temerity. She was nothing more than a tool to be bought. One he had no doubt Darth Tormen could afford. Oh, she'd learn soon enough, he thought snidely, and he sneered at her, "I am to bring you to my lord, Darth Tormen. Submit to search and seizure and come with me."

He watched her eyes and saw them glint, like a flash only hinting at some emotions driving at her right then. But she didn't rant at him in response; she didn't scream or yell. Kastiel only crossed her arms over her chest, and spoke bluntly hard: "No."

Parson spluttered, "What did you say?"

"You speak Basic, right?" Kastiel shifted her weight until her shoulder was pressed more firmly against the other Mandalorian's. Like she was assuring him, telling him something with the merest breadth of movement. Just that very simple tell, a single, heavy touch.

Then Kastiel decided to explain herself. Torian bit back the smile edging his lips as he considered her from the corner of his gaze, watching her show them the strength and will that forged her into a champion. Kas understood the Empire’s soldiers and officers, enough to explain to Torian, Gault, and the others even before stepping off the Bad Boy what games this Darth Tormen would play out right here in the doorway: “Tormen will test our strength and my own determination. The poor schlubs he sends to the task haven’t a damned clue. Feel sorry for them, but don’t hesitate, either.”

So now Kastiel intoned, "I wager I could could come up with a long list of reasons why that's not ever going to happen, lieutenant. I could tell you I don't trust a single blasted person on this ship, not enough to take one step inside without a weapon in my hand. I could tell you I don't care a single shit who it is that requested I come here. I'm not here to impress him, and he's nothing to me. I could tell you all of that, and more. But I'll only tell you ... that I do not submit. Not. Ever."

The absurd little Jawa creature loosed a yelping sound that was likely a cheer of some kind. Parson scowled towards the thing as it kept right on trembling there behind the hunter. Damned beast! It wasn’t fear that bothered the Jawa. The rodent was thrilled and excited, more like. He was only eager to see the hunter act, as if he didn't doubt for a moment she would succeed. And that devaronian didn't even _try_ to hide the grin stretching across his face, either. Parson turned his glaring gaze back to Kastiel, clenching the back of his jaw as he bit past his teeth, "You'll do as directed. Either willingly. Or not." The soldiers behind him raised their rifles, threateningly.

Kastiel shrugged. She shrugged! Was the woman actually bored, Parson wondered. Then she started to speak, and it took Parson several confusing moments before he realized she wasn’t addressing him, "Anyone standing here when this idiot lieutenant hits the floor joins him there."

Parson took a single step forward, raising his hand like he was going to hit her. Her brown eyes glittered dangerously at him as he moved, just above the twisted gleam of her implants. Parson couldn’t take his eyes off her face, he was so angry! Then he heard the sound of stomping feet from behind him. Parson twisted his head back around, watching more than a few of his soldiers run away, frantically scared and panicked. Parson gaped towards their backs, roaring towards them, "What are you ... cowards! You'll all be cour ...!"

And that's when the Mandalorian man sprang forward, sharply direct like an arrow fired from a bow. The man lashed out with a wicked twist of his strong-looking arm to embed a single long serrated blade into the soft flesh of Parson's shoulder.

The force of the blow was terrible. Parson actually spun on the heels of his boots like a broken child's top. He fell back onto the floor then, hard enough his head thunked against the tiles and made his ears ring. He lay there, dazedly looking up at the man who'd struck him. He wondered blearily why the blonde wasn't even paying him notice – what was he watching now, Parson thought offhandedly - but the Mandalorian only lifted one hard boot to press down in the center of Parson’s chest.

Torian held Parson still with his booted foot as he shouted some Mandalorian words towards the hunter, rather: “ _Copaani gaan_?” Oh, Parson realized. The Mandalorian was watching _her_ obviously.

She had moved fast, so that Parson couldn't see her now. But he could hear the sounds of blaster fire and he felt the spreading wetness of his own blood slowly oozing from the knife still stuck solidly into his shoulder. The burning pain of the wound, the heavy weight of the Mandalorian's boot into his chest - all of it made him want to weep and yell in bitterest anger and probably at the same time. How had he managed to fail so spectacularly? And he didn’t even realize he spoke aloud, until the man looming over him answered him.

"You thought we were beaten even before the fight began. It was stupid."

Suddenly the woman reappeared over him, as she stood there looking down at him. Parson blinked up at her, thinking how quiet it was all around them now. He stared at her through the haze of pain that consumed him right then. Parson saw that her neck was marked with a rich burgundy-colored tattoo, five separate lines that smoothed along what he realized were thick scars against the soft skin of her throat. Her hair and the tattoo had neatly obscured the scars until now, at least.

Kastiel glanced over at her companion as she waved down towards Parson on the floor, snorting, “ _Laandur_.” Parson didn't understand her, but he saw Torian shrug in seeming amusement before grumbling back at her in the same strange language. Damn them both, Parson thought, blinking furiously to keep from crying. Then Torian knelt down to knelt down to grip Parson under the arms so he could yank him back to his feet.

Fiery pain ripped through Parson’s entire frame, sizzling along every one of his nerve endings before settling into a dull ache throughout his torso as he wobbled there on his feet again. He glanced around at the still, sodden heaps of bodies on the tiles of the floor, with their gray Imperial uniforms splattered with blood. He wavered, fighting to keep himself standing as he listened to the hunter talking to her people.

"No, Mako. The fucking Sith wants something from me. He's not going to destroy any of us. Not yet. But I need you to keep the Bad Boy secure until Tor and I are done with him," and Kastiel waved her hand. So the devaronian yanked solidly against the small cyborg woman’s elbow before she could keep arguing. Gault pointed towards the hunter’s ship.

"Kas' right, and you know it. Come on, Mako ... let’s get back to work." The man's skin was a flaming red that seemed to match the pain in Parson's shoulder. He felt like he was trapped in one of the Hells Corellians described with terrifying stories as he stood there watching them argue, especially when he looked down at the handle of the blade still protruding against his shoulder.

"What, like I'm a lazy bum? Gault, you’re such an ass!" Mako snorted at the devaronian, slapping him against his round shoulder. Gault held both his hands up in the air, "Did I say that? _I_ would never say that. Not me, noooo! I'd never!"

Kastiel raised one gloved hand and jerked her chin upwards, "Stop it! The lieutenant here's the one who'll be finishing the job he was assigned. Without complaint, I might add. Just be ready, is all."

Mako mumbled sourly, even as Gault pulled her towards the ship’s ramp, "Ready for what, now there's the question, huh?"

Parson watched them go, the tiny Jawa stumbling along behind them. The thing stopped only briefly to wave back towards the hunter, jabbering at her in its strange clicking language, “Don’t hurt Sith-man too much!” Parson felt a spurt of anger over the Jawa’s assuredness. As if the hunter couldn’t possibly fail. He turned his head, blinking against the stars that filled his vision as the blurred shape of the hunter's face moved back into his line of sight. There was a weird clicking, rhythmic sound, annoying enough that he looked for it, swinging his head back and forth in bemusement. Torian twisted his lips into a brief smile as he nudged Kastiel, "He'll drop down from loss of blood before he realizes you're tapping against your blasters, Kas."

Kastiel huffed a small sound, almost a laugh. Then she reached out to grab against the sleeve covering his uninjured arm, "Now, lieutenant. Let's move. Before you pass out on us and we have to drag your sorry ass through the entire place." So that’s why Parson found himself stumbling along just in front of the hunter and her Mandalorian companion, biting back whining moans as she prodded him along so rapidly through the ship's corridors. He gestured intermittently, showing the way. The soldiers they passed ducked their heads, or skirted behind the corners to avoid seeing them. Parson muttered sourly under his breath, "Cowards ... damn them." He wasn’t able to stop hissing in pain by the time they ducked inside the elevator to reach Darth Tormen’s rooms.

Parson spent the brief minutes before facing the Sith Lord, and most likely dying, actually, contemplating what he would do to the milquetoast soldiers he'd so fleetingly commanded. If given the chance, that is. The exercise managed to at the least distract him from the numbness he felt idling against the entire right side of his body by then. And he gamely continued to ignore the blade that remained stuck in his shoulder, as well as the two Mandalorians riding along in the elevator beside him. It’s why he didn’t notice the increasing admiration in the glances they offered him.

He only mumbled outloud several of his better ideas. Just until the bounty hunter shook her head towards him, and chuckled, "Just sounds like a bloody mess to clean up. Take care of your own shoulder first, huh?" Her mockery caused him to stiffen even more pridefully, until he stood there ramrod straight and quiet to wait for the doors to swing open.

The Mandalorian man grunted towards her, saying, “ _Kandosii_.” She lifted her chin just slightly in apparent reply, but Parson ignored the both of them. And their barbaric, backward language to boot. He only marched forward as soon as the doors swung open, never hesitating. Although he did gulp heavily when he took in Darth Tormen himself, watching as the Sith Lord turned his hooded visage towards their small group stepping off from the lift. The tendrils hanging from Darth Tormen’s head quivered with what Parson could only assume was the most terrible anger.

Parson inhaled with methodical care, though, fighting to keep from passing out to lie flat on his back there on the floor. He certainly didn’t look down at the rough handle of the blade sticking out of his shoulder nor even the thick bloodstain that edged it and extended down towards his hip. Parson just held his chin up while he marched forward, with both of the Mandalorians flanking him. He stood at stiff attention, his injured arm hanging limply against his side as he stopped in front of the large desk set against the large expanse of viewing window, intoning as rote as a droid would, "My lord ... the hunter. As you ... requested." He blinked furiously, fighting desperately to remain conscious as his vision blurred wildly for a sudden, breathless moment.

Darth Tormen snarled, moving towards the three of them until his large frame practically hung over Kastiel like he was a solid, terrible force of nature. She didn't move, only stood in front of him resolutely, unfazed as she glared up at the burning red eyes set deep in the nearly purple-skinned face of the Sith. Tormen was actually startled when she didn't flinch, just stared at him pugnaciously. She seemed utterly fearless, even lifted her arms to cross them over her chest and lifted her pert chin that much higher as she looked up at him. Tormen growled down at her, "You've broken what belongs to me."

She shrugged unconcernedly, "You can fix him."

He loomed over them all, so terrifying that Parson actually gasped and took a single pained step backwards. But the bounty hunter remained firm and unyielding. She only stood there, waiting with marked and determined patience. It was her damn temerity that dared the Sith, and his mouth twisted angrily as he waved one of his large, red hands through the air, "Then perhaps you should learn what it is to have what belongs to you ... broken, as well.”

That man of hers suddenly gasped, reaching up towards his throat as he leaned forward. Torian wheezed, desperately trying to drag air into his chest. He slanted a hard look up at the Sith, quick and angry. But Kastiel only eased back slowly, until the hard line of her back was pressed firmly against Torian’s front and he was able to lean forward against her, his blonde head resting against her shoulder as he intermittently gasped choked sounds.

Kastiel pointed at the Sith, "I know damn well what it is to have something taken from me, Darth. That's what taught me how to respond to my enemies. And I swear it. If you become an enemy of mine today, if you actually break a single hair on his head – I will ruin you. I'll make sure you never gain victory, over anyone or any _thing_. Ever. Again." Parson gaped over at her through the narrow tunnel his vision was fast becoming. Gaped, because he _believed_ her!

Darth Tormen grunted a satisfied sound, stepping back from the hunter in a fluid flourish. Torian drew in a single loud breath of air, panted several more times as he raised himself up again. Parson heard him murmuring against the hunter's ear then, "We don't forget." Kastiel nodded, glancing back at him over her shoulder, " _Mando'ad draar digu_." Assured that Torian wasn't seriously injured, Kastiel returned her dark brown-eyed gaze to the Sith. She barked past her clenched jaw, "Say your piece, Sith. What do you want from me?"

Parson dropped his chin down until it rested wearily against his chest, breathing roughly as the hunter and the Sith argued back and forth. He counted the droplets of his blood that were slowly dripping down onto the floor, frozen in place. His thoughts were as blurry as his vision was, actually. He was rather dully aware of his surprise at finally understanding how completely, how totally it was he was used.

To gauge the strength of the hunter's resolve, firstly.

Then again by Kastiel herself.

Showing the Sith in turn, she was no attack dog in an arena that ripped and tore against flesh without rhyme or reason.

She acted as she saw fit and only according to her own will.

And to the hells with the Sith, is what she showed them.

The declaration was loud, succinct. And utterly clear. The only one who'd been wholly and completely gulled was Parson himself. He was so convinced of his own importance that he didn’t even comprehend the subtle, oblique nuances of their negotiations. That everything she did and said - all of it was purely calculated from the moment she stepped off the ramp of that ship she called "Bad Boy". Parson himself was nothing more than a probe of her capability and her character, until every layer of her response was picked out, looked over, and judged by the Sith Lord he served.

So Parson stood there, sweating, and counting the slow plodding drip of his own blood onto the floor under his feet. He thought of the scar the Mandalorian blade would leave in his shoulder, thought how he'd look at it over the years and remember this moment. Remember what it was to be a Sith's pawn. And remember to never again underestimate a Mandalorian again.

* * *

Mako frowned at her, confused, "So we work for this Sith?"

Kastiel shrugged. But she didn’t look straight at Mako as she twiddled her fingers along the handle of her blaster, either. She only stated, "It’s a partnership of convenience. He'll give us what we need. Give him his _prize_ as he calls it, and then we win our names back."

"Bah … Depends on what he considers the prize, doesn't it?" Gault pointed out the obvious and Torian nodded at him, "It's going to be hard-won, yea." Gault blanched. Kastiel thought he looked rather funny like that, almost orange. Like a squash of some sort, one of those vegetables she enjoyed filling with spicy meat and broth. She certainly didn't say so, though. Gault looked like he'd vomit, anyway.

"If Torian says it'll be tough to win, it's got to be almost fucking impossible." Gault paused then, staring at her. If possible he turned even more orange when she hesitated to respond, "Kas? Who the fuck is the target?"

Kastiel leaned back against the ship's wall, basking in the steady thrum of the ship's engines sent through the vessel as it manuevered along the hyperlanes. The vibration assured her, promising some brief, negligible security against the cold empty space they sped their way through. She looked over at her people. At her friends and her husband. She looked at them and thought of how easily she could lose them. Fail at this, fail to get Tormen his fucking prize, and she could lose them ... lose everything she loved.

_That’s not fucking happening_ , she thought, scowling as she reared back to her feet again. She announced to all of them then: "Dorian Janarus. The Sith wants the Supreme Chancellor's fat head, to present to the Dark Council, he says. We're to retrieve it for him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some phrases that I used here which aren’t truly clear enough. Let me clarify then:
> 
> Torian shouted out to Kastiel when she was shooting down Parson's buddies, asking if she needed help. He said, "Copaani gaan?" Literally, "Need a hand?"
> 
> On the elevator ride, Torian admires Kastiel's ability to enliven the Imperial's pride, to make him stand straight rather than in defeat. He figures it might be enough to save the guy, rather than if he walks into the confrontation looking weak and defeated. So Torian told Kastiel, "Kandosii." Literally, "Nice one!" or "Well done!"
> 
> Finally, towards the end of the confrontation, right after Torian remarks they won't forget, Kastiel says, "Mando'ad draar digu." Literally, "A Mandalorian never forgets." They're reminding each other not to underestimate such a powerful Sith, actually. I know the game presents it as if Torian is feeling insulted. But my characters wouldn't feel that way, rather. Tormen was acting as they expected, according to their understanding of the Sith. And they reminded each other of it.


	86. Sparring

To Mako, the Holonet was very practically a living, breathing entity all its own, one with its own voice and its own will. Its own energy, too. But not everyone was able to sink into it, to wrap themselves up inside of it, or to just _exist_ within it. So many years she spent as a child and she didn’t understand that much. Years and years before she realized she was truly different and even strange compared to all the other youngsters who scrambled along the alleys and nooks of the Nar Shaddaa streets. And by then she was well and truly plugged into the Holonet itself, her skills prized and utilized quite regularly by various clients.

It wasn’t a connection she could manage, now, to be free from, either. As much as she navigated the Holonet, it kept her held tight in its own grasp, too.

The ship was humming now. Everything was settled into a soothing calm as the late hours of the night drifted along easier than the stars did outside the viewscreen. The other members of the Bad Boy crew were all quiet enough, that Mako couldn’t hear any of them moving around nearby. Except for Two, who was warbling several phrases as it went about clearing the table in the mess, from where they gathered during the late meal that Torian prepared earlier.

Mako absently rubbed her sated tummy, remembering the stew of minced nerf beef and _Yot_ beans heaped into bowls as they sat around the table together. She’d bumped shoulders with Gault as they fought to get the last of the _Haarshun_ bread from the basket in the center of the table, even. Mako was pretty certain gods-damned royalty would appreciate the hearty goodness of Torian’s cooking, actually.

Now Torian and Kastiel were down in the sparring section tucked into a corner of the hold. Mako tended to avoid that particular bit of space, actually, and when she caught sight of Kastiel heading in that direction dressed in the form-fitting tights she wore to suffer through more calisthenics Mako practically skipped her way towards the terminal on the bridge. Leave it to the Mandalorians on the crew to make grappling each other on a mat over the floor anything like a prized game, she figured.

Gault only waved his fork towards Kastiel as she ducked down the Bad Boy’s stairwell, too busy arguing with Blizz over the patched ends of his robes: "Did you sew that square piece there _deliberately_? You do realize you don’t need to wear a patchwork quilt anymore, right? Kas offers the crew some degree of compensation for putting up with all this shit, at least."

Blizz made some funny noises, which were likely the Jawa equivalent of snorting chuckles, "Devil-man can’t brag so much about his own clothes. Ugly! So stay away from Blizz! No, no touch! Leave alone!"

Gault rumbled, "Seriously, tell me the truth. You haven’t removed that brown robe for cleaning since the day you left Tattooine. I’d bet my last credit on it, mind you. I think it really could stand upright all on its own, actually."

"If want, Blizz can help Devil-man with _his_ clothes."

"Hah! As if you’d be able to find them! I’ve had loads of practice keeping a monkey-lizard from hunting down my shirts, mind you. Little monster."

"Blizz knows where! Devil-man has lots of clothes. Why you need _four_ lock boxes? Took whole day to fix so many locks."

"You unsecured the chests where I store my clothes? Shit, no!" Blizz chortled roughly as Gault very practically sprinted down the stairwell. The devaronian didn’t even take the piece of bread he was munching on, just tossed it back into the center of the table before he belted away from the mess. Mako shrugged towards the chortling Jawa, “Your sparring exercise looks about as painful as Kas’, Blizz.” The Jawa wiggled his little body in apparent humor as Mako ducked through the door towards the bridge.

Now Mako sank down into the quiet hum of the Holonet, curling her slim figure even more into the curve of the chair as she gazed unseeing towards the viewscreen showing the stars winging past the ship. She claimed the quiet, made it her own as she slowly calmed enough to slip into the soft consideration of the pathways the Holonet showed her. So much smooth, so much easy … Her entire system relaxed, relaxed. Mako blinked to avoid falling asleep with the whisper of so many voices brushing her awareness. The skittering tones that she vaguely noted, here and then there – the messages she heard, the tones she only sensed, and the soft droning pulse of communication. Mako drifted, only listening:

"... ten million credits for the bounty hunter called Kastiel ..."

"... Republic's Most Wanted isn't a title I'd want to wear ..."

"... saying even the Empire's trying to stave off the Republic this time ..."

"... don't believe it for a second. Whatever the Imperials are up to, turning a hunter over to the Republic isn't part of the deal ..."

"... Hah! As if the Empire would break ties with the Clans over the death of a Jedi ..."

"... Hells! Who knows what really happened on Nar Shaddaa? ..."

"... What? The Jedi wouldn't lie like that! Do you really think they would? ..."

Mako smiled softly to herself. She quietly seeded various messages along the different pathways she moved, pulled back some of the layers that were only mistruths, and prodded the doubts. Mako worked slowly. Carefully. She noted Xayver’s motions, too, and watched the fluidity of his dance through the Holonet with unabashed curiosity. But she avoided catching his own notice, and called that much success a real win. Xayver’s skillful manipulation of computer systems was nearly unmatched, Mako thought.

Then she noticed what occupied Xayver’s attention just then:  "... The samples of nanite technology provided for examination have been removed from the database. No more samples remain. All records describing initial consideration have been likewise deleted. Authorization for the information's removal provided by [redacted] ... no more records remain." Mako curled even further into her chair, until her small body was practically a ball in the seat.

Imperial Intelligence was a beast worth dodging on the Holonet even on the best days. The way a small mouse hid from a large Nexu in a field, even. It was just better to avoid becoming a real predator’s next meal, anyway. But now Mako felt like _she_ was that mouse and the shadow of Imperial Intelligence was only just creeping over her head right then. Except suddenly, someone tossed a pebble to draw the monster off from noticing where she was huddled.

Only why would _he_ toss it? Mako knew Xayver watched him that closely. Kastiel called Xayver’s consideration of her little brother, “Something personal, for him. I don’t like it, Mako.” That’s why Mako continued to spy on Xayver’s motions across the Holonet, at least. But still … What was Khyriel’s game? And how much did he already know, that he’d work to keep his superiors from looking this way?

Mako’s fingers twitched unconsciously, as if she was working them over a terminal’s console. Just a nervous habit she barely noticed, really. Now she let the motion play out, even as she reached out over the Net to find that one presence that always soothed her most anxious worrying. Mako ghosted her awareness across the intimacy they shared so easily, the nearness that even light-years couldn’t obscure.

And Hells, but she was beyond glad he'd accessed the Holonet tonight.

"Mako! I was looking for you on this blasted Holo-thing … how do you manage to find anything in this cesspool that counts for conversation? It’s worse than any cantina the captain’s dragged me into!” Corso harrumphed as he tapped his fingers along the console, glaring down at the machine and chattered under his breath. His complaints were typical enough that Mako just smiled dreamily towards his image, comforted by the familiar timbre of his voice. But he finally smiled back at her anxiously, “Look, about what I said back on Mandalore … You're right, I'm an ass sometimes. I should have respected your need to fight for Kas. Like I fight for the captain. I’m just afraid of losing you, is all."

Mako smiled at him, propping her chin on top of her bent arm as she watched his holoimage over the top of the terminal, "You were just throwing a cute little hissy fit. It's okay, Corso."

Corso turned red so slowly in that adorable fashion the way he always did. He rolled his eyes, "I don't throw 'hissy fits'. Especially not _cute_ ones!"

"Oh yea, of course not." Mako offered him one of those utterly feminine smiles. That promised warm affection for whatever foolish moment a man displayed just then. Corso’s nose wrinkled with profoundest disagreement. But Mako only raised up one small hand of hers, waving it through the air with evident disregard, "Point being, don't worry about it. I understood where you were coming from, and I was only sorry I couldn't help you feel better. That's all. Besides. We've got more important stuff to worry about."

Corso's gaze sharpened headily, until he almost looked hawk-like out at her from the terminal. Mako smiled, thinking how easily he was underestimated by everyone who encountered him. With his boyish demeanor and easygoing manners, Corso was usually disregarded. They always thought he was an absurd boob of a man, easily fooled or simply duped – a chump, only good for mocking. Mako took her cues from Kastiel, though. Only because the bounty hunter sized up potential combatants like she herself considered the programs of a computer, and figured quick which ones would give her a fight worth making and which ones were good for avoiding. And it was Kastiel who told Mako, “Corso is funny enough and he’s loyal to a damned fault. That’s his greatest weakness, Mako. Abuse the one he’s following, or the cause he’s fighting for and he loses control; he lacks balance then. But he’ll burn down the world for it before he’s done, too.”

Mako was determined that Corso never be lost to that kind of hazed mess of a fight. So she offered him every advantage she could. When he lifted his chin, silently prodding her to continue, Mako shrugged, “You’d better tell Gaib that his brother’s looking for him.”

"Figures. And we just left Tython, too."

* * *

Torian grabbed her against the back of the shoulders, raising her up against his bare, sweaty shoulder before flipping her neatly over his head. Kas grunted a pained sound as she landed flat on her back. But she never hesitated, either. She sucked air back into her chest even while her hand shot out to grab against the back of Torian’s ankle, and she yanked his foot hard out from underneath him.

Torian tumbled backwards across the plush mat they’d spread along the floor in that corner of the ship’s hold. He grumbled some curses in Mando’a as he tried reaching for her. But Kastiel had already flipped herself up onto all fours, so that she could scrabble along his downed form until she straddled his waist. Kastiel growled down into his face, ignoring his narrowed gaze as she tried catching his arms. But Torian was slick with sweat, and her hands actually slid down over his shoulders until she tumbled forward against his chest. So Torian caught her instead, gripping her around the hips so that he was able to reverse their positions. He flipped Kastiel until she crouched under him and he leaned down over her back with her waist held tight in his grip and her rear curled against his stomach.

Torian hissed when Kastiel’s buttocks lowered down just enough she was nestled snugly into the warm curve of his groin. He hesitated only a moment, breathing roughly. Then he pulled her back harder against him, slowly grinding his hardening erection back and forth over her. She met him, too. She pushed herself back into him, meeting every motion he made as she panted rough breaths and smiled, "Not sure this is how you should be fighting your opponents, Tor. Only saying."

Torian pulled her hips higher as he shifted onto his knees behind her, until her arms were stretched out straight in front of her and she was just barely touching the surface of the mat. She whimpered softly under her breath.

He glanced around the open bay. The hour was moving into lateness, and the narrow hallway leading to the crew quarters was dark and quiet. Gault rushed past them a good hour earlier, yelling over his shoulder at Blizz about some clothes in a chest. But Blizz only meandered along behind him, tittering Jawa sounds of amusement as he went towards the closet that counted for his own private space. And Mako was still on the bridge, where she typically fell asleep in the navigator’s chair after dancing across the pathways of the Holonet for hours.

So they really were all alone there in the hold, Torian thought. He looked down at the damp skin over Kastiel's back, still covered in a loose shirt down to the brief waistband of the tight trousers she was wearing. Her arms and shoulders were actually bare, though, and she twisted her head around to look at him from over her shoulder. Torian could see the bright burgundy tattoo that ran along her soft throat – his own mark that reached up towards the glittering implant in the shell of her ear.

He leaned down until his entire front was curled along the line of her back and his chest bumped her shoulder-blades. He pressed his groin even tighter into the curve of her backside, rocking himself on her and he murmured to her, "You're not just anyone, Kas." He moved then, pulling at the waistband of her trousers quickly as she yelped a shocked sound. Torian hushed her, laying one of his hands against the lower part of her back to hold her still as he finished pulling her pants down until they draped open against her thighs. He hummed, "Quiet, _cyare_. Hold still ... I can get deeper from this way."

"We can't do this here!"

He shook his head in disagreement, "We can. Only quickly."

Kas reared up to look around her, frightened at the thought someone might walk in on them. But that only pressed her even closer to him, until she could actually feel the pulse of his hard length along the very sheer line between her buttocks. It sent a sheering shock of pleasure that tingled along her spine; it was incredible. Torian groaned, too, and he was frantic as he reached down between them to unfasten the opening to his pants. She felt quivering moistness between her legs and a real rush of adrenalin-laced desire. So she murmured to him, spreading her legs as far as she could with her pants still tangled over her thighs, "Hurry, Torian."

He didn't make her wait. Torian angled his hips, searching for her warm opening with the tip of his erection as she kept rolling her hips with trembling anticipation there in front of him. He muttered harshly to her, commanded her, "Stay still, Kas!" Torian tightened his hold on her, gripping her waist even more firmly, hard-knuckled enough he thought he'd leave real bruises on her pale skin. But she whimpered needfully again, just as he touched her very entrance. Torian paused only briefly, savoring one more soft, gentle whimper of need and desire from her. And then he pushed inside of her hard, fast, and groaning as he reached deeper than he ever had.

Kastiel’s elbows buckled and she moaned, leaning forward to rest her face over her crossed arms there on the mat. The new angle raised her hips higher, so that he actually slid even deeper inside her. Until the head of his erection was nestled right up against the sweetly warm muscles that hugged her cervical opening. Torian groaned a growly sound as he started moving. He pressed himself into her, pulled himself almost all the way out before ramming back inside again. He repeated the motion over and over, while Kastiel bit against her forearm to avoid loosing the sounds from the back of her throat.

Torian reached under her, curling his arms up under the tail of her shirt until he cupped both of her breasts in the palms of his hands. He pinched her nipples between his fingers as he continued running himself along the wet muscles of her channel, pulling her back against the warm expanse of his chest as he leaned farther over her. He held her close to him, clasped her. Sweat ran in rivulets down from his temple, dripping against the soft, pale skin of her shoulders. He moved faster, harder so that his groin smacked against the cheeks of her rear and her whole body shook, and he moaned low as he felt the ripples of her orgasm beginning. Kastiel trembled, quivered, and muttered as she was coming, "Good ... gods. Torian. Torian, it’s so good."

"Yes!" Torian jerked, felt the hard dragging pulse of his own climax burning, burning. His spine tingled, his blood pumped rhythmically hard. He shuddered against her, spilled himself, breathing roughly as he lay his forehead tiredly into the center of her back. He tongued the sensitive skin between her shoulder blades, wiped off the salty droplets with his tongue.

And he whispered her name, so that the huff of his breath winged across the cool sweat that lined her back as she shivered delicately in his arms. He breathed out, his voice hoarse, "Did I hurt you?" She felt him easing his hands away from her breasts, until his palms smoothed over the feminine curve of her hips. He raised himself up, examining her carefully for any physical signs of their hurried loving.

Kas smiled, lying still and breathless against the mat, "You've made me melt. I think I'll just lay here. Forever. Just ... don't move. I like you right where you are."

He rolled his hips one last time, sighing when she tightened softly around him. Then he eased himself back from her, reaching down to put her clothes back into place and cover her softest parts. She flopped over onto her back then, watching him as he returned his own clothes to order. She leaned her head to the side, murmured to him with curiosity, "Don't for a second think I want you to hesitate the next time you have an urge like that, Tor. But what was that, really?"

Torian looked away from her, reaching over to grab his shirt off the floor where he tossed it when they started sparring. He yanked the cream-colored garment over his head, pulling it into place while he concentrated on fastening the ties along his throat. He glanced over towards her, saw her looking at him calmly, her eyes liquid warmth there in her face. And he suddenly wanted to sink inside her all over again.

But she was waiting for him, with the same sort of patient certainty that people complained he was, too. Torian finally settled himself down onto the corner of the mat, crossing his legs beneath himself as he watched her twist over onto her side to face him. She propped her head on one elbow, and he smiled over at her as she raised her eyebrows towards him. He shrugged, "I can't see all the threats to you. It bothers me."

Kastiel’s eyes narrowed only slightly. Because she knew he was referring to her little brother, and not the smuggler rascal of a brother they met whenever the chance came along. No, Gaibriel was a friend to Torian, someone who'd defended him and his Ordo brothers, too. Khyriel was the unknown quality, here. "There are plenty of threats worth watching. Some threats only seem so, though." Torian shook his head and lowered his chin slightly, concentrating on his breathing for a moment before he reminded her, "Imperials aren’t known for their family loyalty, Kas. Any man who calls the Empire his own is a threat."

Kastiel flopped back against the mat again, enjoying the gentle throbbing between her legs that reminded her of how close to her he could press himself. As if the closer to him she was, the safer he could keep her. Such a masculine impulse, she supposed. She smiled as she looked over at him and saw him watching her. "Then trust _me_ , Torian."

And Torian nodded, “Always.”

* * *

Brye found her meditating in gentle repose, settled in a corner of one single brightly-lit room off the main hall of the Temple. He paused, concentrating very briefly on her emotional state, on what he sensed of her demeanor through the Force. She exuded warmth and comfort. But if anyone could see past the walls and barriers she created to hide herself from all of them, it was Brye himself.

They were raised up from younglings together, played side by side and learned of the Force settled down next to each other. And that’s why he sensed the disquiet she was using this exercise today to dispel. Brye felt his hand twitch against his own side, as a protective impulse tempted him to leave her alone. As if he could avoid the upset this would cause her, even.

But Seros actually bumped himself into the back of Brye’s shoulder just then, and Brye barely managed to bite back a temperamental sigh. The Battlemaster loomed just behind him, compelling him towards the Hero. Seros’ energy was palpable, until the air itself there in the room felt heavy and real against all their senses. His presence easily distracted the calm Camiel was trying to rediscover.

Like Seros was some burning stone that someone tossed into the middle of a lake, he ruined whatever relaxation Camiel was striving to settle into right then. Camiel's opened her eyes only slowly, until they were wide and almost black in her face as she regarded them there.

"He's left Tython, then,” Master Seros stepped around Brye to stand just in front of him, speaking carefully. Brye frowned towards his back, though. It wasn’t unusual for a Jedi to mask his emotions behind careful tones and deliberately vague speech. The affectation was so ordinary to their Order, in fact, that many people claimed Jedi had no emotions, that they lacked the sheer ability to feel anything at all. But Seros seemed even more intent on such shows in these recent days.

Camiel nodded slowly, "You _were_ adamant, Master Seros."

"Such ties between the both of you can be dangerous." Seros was frowning now, “And his ethics are questionable, besides.” But Brye raised up single hand as he shook his head.

"His character is exceptional, rather,” Brye’s voice remained even and calm. He was the one who found the Captain, who knew he could help her when Camiel was lost in the Emperor’s hold. So he explained now, “He's sharp-witted and resourceful, keenly intent on doing the right thing. Even if the manner in which he goes about it is questionable. And he is uncommonly constant in his loyalty and overall decency. I liked him, even. He’s amusing."

Master Seros frowned harder suddenly, and he turned his head sideways to address Brye from over his shoulder. Brye lowered his chin thoughtfully as he considered Seros in return, remembering the last time they’d disagreed. Perhaps the Battlemaster still resented that argument. But now Seros blithely waved his hand sideways through the air, "His _amusing_ banter did not endear him to me, rather. Yet another measure of your youth, Master Brye."

Brye felt Camiel’s spurt of angry feeling through the force, but she quickly smothered the sensation behind her most sensitive barriers. He smiled lightly through the corner of his mouth, just in her direction.

Camiel always was so protective. And it wasn’t until he met her twin brother he truly understood what inspired that impulse. Now Brye nodded sagely towards Seros, "I do believe, in fact, that the Captain used those 'amusing ramblings' to keep you from asking those questions of him you were so intent upon."

"Are you supposing the Order's Battlemaster was out-maneuvered by a man just shy of being called a criminal?"

Brye noticed Camiel lowering her gaze to the floor, as he considered her over Seros’ shoulder. The oblique motion was indicative of how Camiel still struggled with hurt and fear. Brye inhaled slowly, determined to keep Seros from pushing her too much and too fast. She needed to pull her mind from the memories, the prison that her mind stayed trapped inside even now – even with the Emperor stymied and beaten only so much that she ran back to them. And only the bond she shared with a man Seros was sneering against saved her thus far.

Camiel needed more time.

And she needed her brother, too. So Brye bent his shoulders upwards in some bare semblance of a shrug, still arguing with the Battlemaster. Still pressing him to turn back from the way he was going. He told him, "As I said, Master Seros ... the Captain is exceptional. I have no doubt everything he said was deliberately orchestrated to ensure you lacked the insights you were seeking." Brye noticed the twist of Camiel's lip, then.

So fervent. They always protected each other, Brye thought. It’s why the captain of the Freedom’s Way came to Tython. To save his sister from the Emperor. It did not surprise Brye he protected _both_ his sisters. And with the sheerest inanities galore, to boot.. Brye really did like him, actually.

"Regardless," Seros turned to Camiel, his eyebrow raised as he stared at her for a long moment. "He was observed at Nar Shaddaa, in the company of a _dangerous_ criminal. That … woman killed one of our own. While I make no accusations against him, Master Shorn, I must be told what he spoke to you in regards the bounty hunter. Surely you asked him?"

Camiel looked up, then. Brye suddenly recalled the image of the bounty that they showed both of them – her eyes so much like Camiel’s as she moved down the corridors of the cruiser where she’d hunted Master Kellian Jarro. Only the hunter’s eyes glittered with a dark, terrible fire; a methodical, careful tenacity that considered everything and everyone in front of her as possible threats.

Camiel’s eyes looked the same as her sister’s right then. And Brye was grateful he never told Master Seros _why_ the smuggler captain met the bounty hunter on Nar Shaddaa. Seros didn’t know Camiel had a sister, as much as a twin brother.

But Camiel just shrugged, “I believed he was joking when he told me she was hunting for you, actually."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some food items described, here:  
> (1) Yot beans were harvested on Dantooine. They were added to various dishes, because they typically added intense flavors as well as nutrition.  
> (2) I've mentioned Haarshun Bread before. A Mandalorian-made bread, it was made very, very thin and then rolled up and dried. When ready to eat, it was unrolled and then soaked in water to soften it. Found often in dry rations that Mandalorians carried with them, it was also standard fare in most Mandalorian meals.


	87. Please

Gault fiddled with the small datacube, twirling it through his red fingers steadily enough he only barely skimmed the surface with his sharp fingernails. The thing felt warm against the palm of his hand, as various images glittered across its surface in quick succession. He slowly swiped the edge of the cube again with one pointed finger, leaning his head back against the hard edge of the chair as he listened to the recorded words and sounds winging up at him.

There was laughter trilling against a backdrop of audacious music, the bopping sounds common to a cantina. Then came the singsong voice of the woman he'd always love -- Hylo’s sultry tones assuring him he looked sexy in some long-since-destroyed shirt. Hylo … and just thinking her name made Gault smile, too. But she always ensured her hair was dyed to match whatever she was wearing. Hells, he couldn't even look at a piece of purple fabric without thinking of her, still.

And that’s when he heard his friend’s voice, as Zale lumbered into the raucous cantina to call out to him, " _Ty, don't hog the prettiest woman, here, damn you! I don't care how fucking awesome your pretty outfit it is! Scoot your ass over and let the better man have a seat_!" Gault snarled as he suddenly stopped the playback, glaring down at the device.

Zale's face, frozen there with that audacious grin of his stretching across his features, stared back at him. He sighed, tapping one fingernail against the image. "Fucking Zale. Never could be a selfish bastard like me, huh? No hiding out of sight, keeping your head low, and staying out of trouble for you, Zale! Nooooo! Not Zale fucking Barrows!”

Gault snarled meanly, “Damn you, Zale. You just have to go on to do-good work for the fucking Republic, you stupid ass! Gods, I could almost hate you for it." He looked away, staring over towards the galaxy map that glittered with the lights marking their eventual destination. Belsavis. Gault twirled the datacube across his fingers again and inhaled harshly while he sat there, glaring at the blinking dot that represented that damned frozen popsicle of a world.

"Isn't it me who has trouble sleeping, as a general rule?"

Gault yelped a surprised sound at the sound of the voice from just behind him. He jumped to his feet, fumbling with the datacube until it bounced back and forth between both his hands. He almost danced in place for a long moment before he finally gripped the cube tightly and spun to face the doorway.

Kastiel just leaned relaxedly against the doorjamb, calmly observing Gault’s jerking dance for balance. She was dressed in loose clothes, her pretty feet bare on the floor. She must have tumbled out of bed, Gault thought. Probably went to the mess for something cold to drink. Her and her damn dreams, anyway. He opened his mouth, prepared to berate her for startling him so badly. But right then Zale's recorded voice filled the small space before he could say anything.

" _Don't fool yourself, Tyresius Lokai! Say what you will, but you're a better man than you think! You proved it today, stood there alongside the lot of us and fought as hard as any one of us could've been expected. You didn't give those Mando bastards an inch_!"

Gault blinked, looking down at the cube as he slowly swiped it silent again. He plopped back into the chair, looking anywhere but towards Kastiel as he sighed with dreary dejection. He slowly cleared his throat, "I know Mako restocked the Med closet with supplies, so if it's a sleeping stim you're looking for ..." Kastiel harrumphed as she stepped away from the doorway, moving to stand alongside the chair where Gault was sitting. He glanced up at her. But Kas wasn’t looking at him; she only stared down at the map.

Kastiel crossed her arms over her chest so that the fabric of her brief sleeping shirt stretched up to expose the soft skin of her lower belly. Gault caught sight of the pretty white gem twinkling against the pale skin of her navel there, and he idly pondered she'd have to remove the tiny decoration when she decided to become pregnant.

Now there was a decent enough change of subject, he thought. Gault almost leaned over to bump Kastiel’s feminine hip, to jokingly ask her whether they'd discussed names for the little hunters they kept trying to make. Because a joke was just plain easier. It would distract her from asking him about Belsavis, at least. But Kastiel hummed sideways towards him suddenly, "I know you're about to crack some stupid joke, Gault. Don't know what form it will take. But stow it."

Kastiel looked over at him, just in time to catch Gault biting back whatever witticism he was preparing. Gault reached up to rub along the edge of his broken horn instead, sighing morosely as he closed his eyes. Kas knew she was pushing; it wasn’t something she was really so good at doing, either. Not this sort of emotional wrangling. Gaibriel complained about it, wagging his finger towards her every time she tried to finangle the truth of his feelings from him.

Kastiel was just too much direct, too bluntly focused. If she felt a certain way, or wanted something from someone – she only said so or just plain went after it. Gaib said she “lacked subtlety in emotional maneuvering”. Torian smiled at her, though. Kastiel knew he liked being the center of her own emotions, too much to complain she needed to be “subtle” about it. Whatever the hells that was supposed to mean, anyway.

Now Kastiel thumped Gault’s shoulder, complaining to him, "I was waiting for you to talk to me. But all you’re doing is sulking."

Gault leaned over, spinning the datacube between his fingers all over again. Kastiel watched, looking at the twirling pictures of a younger Gault settled against the side of a Mirialan female with incredibly decorated hair and clothes. Had the woman _really_ dyed her hair neon blue?

Gault spoke low then, so quietly that Kastiel strained to hear him, "I agreed, Kas. Tyresius died on Tattooine. Hell, I wanted him to! Not like Gault Rennow can go around saying Zale Barrows deserves to keep his head on his neck, now, huh? Certainly not to a Mandalorian hero who's husband only barely tolerates my history, as it is."

"Is that what you want, though?"

Gault hesitated. He watched the image of Zale turning a wide smile towards the recorder, swallowed heavily. He'd argued with himself endlessly, respecting the decision he made when he agreed to follow Kastiel off Tattooine.

Only a real dumbass would expose his survival to anyone from the far-off life he abandoned on Tattooine, with only a name and a body that mimicked his own. It was just plain stupid to tell them different now! Better to preserve his own neck, than to risk losing it just to save the life of someone who wanted his head on a block, regardless. Shit, it wasn't like like Zale would appreciate it, either. Zale would just plain spit himself dry out of disgust if he only caught sight of Gault, over learning he was still alive. He certainly wouldn’t want to owe Gault any sort of favor!

But then he glanced up at the bounty hunter who was ballsy enough to carry his genetic match to the Mandalorians and tell them, bluntly, "I shot Tyresius Lokai." She didn’t even lie to them, he thought, smirking to himself as he considered the scar she left on his left ass cheek.

He'd marveled as he watched her then, knowing she would win her damned contest and make a name for herself that would become a fiery legend for years to come. Hell, men would follow her. The way men followed Hylo, too. It was her spirit and her tenacity that attracted them, and never mind that he was damned happy being one of them, either.

So Gault looked at her now. He watched the light from the datacube flickering over the soft skin of her face until her implants flashed with the reflected light, too. It drew his attention to the look in her dark eyes, how seriously she was pondering the map. And Gault decided.

"Kas ... please. I've got no right to ask, certainly not a Mandalorian. But ... _please_."

Gault choked back any more words, looking away from her as he spun the cube between his hands fast enough the images couldn’t really be discerned anymore. He listened as she stepped back from the chair and made her way off the bridge towards her bed. She didn’t say anything to him as she went. But he knew.

Gault glanced down at the datacube, leaned his head to the side as he considered the thing. He very nearly threw it, gripped it tightly as he started to turn, even. But like every other time he'd pulled the device out, every time he thought of tossing it away -- eventually Gault tucked it back into the pouch where he kept it. Always close.

* * *

Kayla bit her lip as she pulled her slim legs closer to her chest, huddling back into the corner between the wall and the shipping crate. She could feel desperate whimpers rising against the back of her throat, and she bit her lip harder to keep from screaming. But she could hear the Houk moving -- his lumbering gait was just that rough and angry-sounding on the hangar floor as he tossed boxes and containers out from in front of him. He was shouting at her, too. Loud, terrible curses as he described what he planned to do to her, "Gonna take you apart, little girl. Slow-like! Zale won't recognize whatever's left of you after I'm done!"

Stupid, stupid. It was all Kayla could think, was how stupid she felt for having stayed behind in the hangar after Zale told her he was going to go out and help the warden and the guards. She should have gone with him, damn it!

But she'd panicked. She thought it was safer hunkering down near the ship. Hell, she'd even yelled at Zale for being such a damn hero, instead of escaping when the rioting began. She had hated the sad look on his face when he regarded her then, and the way he touched her chin with one single finger as he told her, "It’s probably better for you to go, take the ship and get off-world while I get this done, Kayla." But she'd been obstinate enough, even then. Oh, yea, she yelled at him plenty for leaving the hangar.

"I'll be right here, Zale! Do you hear me, you ass? You'd better make it back here in one piece, because I'm not leaving without you! I mean it! They'll have to carry me out of here!" He had shot her a twisted grin over his shoulder, that damn easygoing smile of his that never failed to make her insides puddle into a gooey mess of fondness and warmth. Gods, how could any simple human make her feel such things, make her dream of some better place and even better people. How could he so easily twist her into believing that making for the good fight was worthwhile? The Houk seemed determined to make her a fool for it, though.

"You're gonna be sorry you made this harder for me! Oh, yea! I'll make it hard – I’ll make it fucking hurt! You'll see!"

She was going to die, here.

Kayla mewled a low distressed sound, raising up one pale-skinned hand to clench over her mouth as she tried to desperately catch back the sound. Before the maddened Houk heard her, found her. Anything, so long as she could continue to hide. Just a little bit longer, just a few more moments. And when did such a simple thing, something so small as another minute, one more sweet moment - when did that become such a precious thing to have just one more? Because Zale would never, ever forgive himself, not for this. Not for what would happen to her …"Hah! There you are!"

Kayla hiccupped in shocked horror when the Houk's rough hand grabbed her ankle. Her wild shriek filled the air when he pulled, hard, trying to yank her out from the small space where she was huddled. She scrabbled along the floor, trying to grab hold of something -- anything. But he only twisted her ankle, the force terrible enough she screamed shrilly in hysterical pain. Then he pulled and yanked her so hard, and Kayla came out from the small corner, her fingers scratching along the floor in desperate terror. She shook and trembled, screaming when he jerked her upright and held her up with one hard fist buried in the fabric of her jacketed shirt.

He held her up, aloft in the air so that her small frame quaked and shivered feet off the floor. Kayla was crying, tears washing down her face as the Houk shouted, "Where is he? Tell me where Barrows is, cause I know he ain't here! I wrecked his fucking pretty-assed ship. But I want you to tell me where he went to before I wreck his little girlfriend, too! Now ... tell me!" He roared the last, so hard and loud that her ears were left ringing and his warm, foul breath washed across her tiny face. Kayla screeched, reaching out to beat against his bulging fat face as hard as she could.

But he only laughed at her puling sounds while she futilely beat against him. He shook her once, then again. She jerked against his hold, crying harder. Then he hit her, his fist flying into the side of her head with brutal force. Kayla’s head flew backwards, the pain of the blow leaving her dazed and shocked as she hung limply in his hold. Kayla choked out some gasps of air, as the Houk kept right on snarling, "Where is he? Damn you -- answer me!" He dropped her and she fell like a stone to lie flat on her back hard enough she lost all the air in her lungs and she flopped against the floor in desperatation to only breathe.

The Houke reached down, grabbing her forehead between his meaty fingers as he pulled her face closer to his own, growling, "Tell me what I want to know or I'll start biting off those little horns on top of your head."

But why? She almost asked him, but she only chuffed some noise that almost sounded like amusement. It was all she could manage, though. The words were lost against the tightness in her throat, so she couldn’t ask what good it would do telling him anything. There just wasn’t a reason, not when Zale was as good as dead if the Houk found him, too. So she'd die. And that's all there was to it. Her only blasted bit of defiance left. Oh, and didn’t that damn well sucked balls, too.

The clang of the hangar doors was brilliant, then. The Houk laughed, his fat head falling back as he laughed out loud to the roof over head. "Yer lover boy's coming back!" He hit her, hard enough she flew backwards onto the floor again. "Heya, Zale! I like yer little plaything, even with her silly horns. Maybe I'll keep her awhile, huh? Wanna watch ...? Hey ... yer not ... Who the hell are you?"

Kayla looked up, through her bruises and her gasping breaths. Hopeful, praying to any deity that could hear her that it wasn't Zale standing there. She almost fell backwards in relief when she realized it wasn't him.

No, it was an armored woman standing straight across from them, a human with the darkest hair that fell against her jaw in several thin braids that showed clearly the implants spreading across her face, just under her burning brown eyes. The blonde-haired man behind her said something Kayla didn't understand, some language that wasn't picked up by the translators. She shook her head, feeling the dryness of her mouth so that her tongue seemed stuck against the inside up against her cheek.

The woman glanced at Kayla, before pointing at the Houk, "And you’re just a crazy-assed son of a bitch, actually. Zale Barrows ... where is he?"

Kayla sighed, looking down at the floor in weary despair as she realized there was no help coming from the two newcomers. Just more people hunting down the man she adored, looking to break him. The Houk suddenly punched her in the middle of the back, and Kayla grunted loudly before flying face first into the floor. She felt the crunch of her mouth against the hard surface, the spurt of blood along the inside of her upper lip. Kayla heard the warrior woman snorting with disgust, "I'm not impressed by your measly ability to beat on someone who can't fight back, Houk."

The Houk waved a big hand towards the pair, "Beating on her gives me something to do. 'Sides, she's the only one who knows where Zale's gone and she's going to tell me. Before I beat her to a tiny heap of bones, if she doesn't talk fast."

The woman frowned at Kayla, "Is that true? Do you know where Barrows went?" She glanced behind them, towards the starship that the Houk had battered into a twisted heap of metal and torn wires. It would take Kayla days to refurbish the ship after the damage the damn bastard had done to the vessel. If she was allowed the chance. And that certainly didn’t seem likely … The Houk stomped a beefy foot against the floor, suddenly.

"She's going to tell me, so that I can get Zale back. That fucker dumped me here on this heap of a world, left me stuck here with no way out. I'm going to make him pay!"

The woman sighed dramatically as she leaned against a single hip, her arms crossing over her chest resignedly, "It’s better if you pipe down, Houk. You're annoying me." She looked towards Kayla again and gestured impatiently, "The maniac here is bound and determined. Might want to think which one of us you want finding Zale Burrows first, huh?"

Kayla felt the wash of tears in her brown eyes again, wondered how much a person could cry in a single hour. She tasted the blood in her mouth, wiped against her torn lip with her small, narrow tongue. "Please don't kill him! He's a good guy, better than me. He insisted on staying to help when things got bad, not like me. I wanted to run away. Just please!" A strange look, something like frustrated familiarity flashed across the woman's face as she stared back at her. But she shook her head at Kayla, "I’m not going to offer the man a job, believe me. So telling me about his character isn't necessary. I only want to find him."

"But ..."

The Houk yelled at her, "This is fucking stupid!" He shoved her again, and she flew into the side of a large crate. Kayla heard a thunk, felt the pitiful give of something in her side, and she gasped in raging pain. Through the haze filling her mind she could hear some more Mandalorian words, thought blearily to herself how easily she could die without telling any of them a damn thing. Then she felt a hard, gloved hand gripping her arm, pulling her away from the reach of the Houk before tucking her behind a firm, armored back.

Kayla whimpered as she glanced over the muscled shoulder of the Mandalorian man, taking in the form of that dark-haired woman standing there in front of the Houk. The hunter had yanked out a blaster and she held it up extended in front of her as she snarled into the Houk’s fleshy face, "Like I said, you're fast becoming an aggravating pile of shit. Interfere again, and I'll remove you from the equation."

The Houk loomed over her threateningly. Kayla felt the shoulder of the man in front of her tensing into angry readiness. He said something to the woman as he actually leaned forward, almost like he was preparing to leap. She glanced down towards the jetpack mounted between his shoulder blades, wondering crazily if he'd give her time to jump out of the way before he fired the thing. Doubtful …

Kayla tried edging to the side. But the man's hand shot out to hold her in place even as he shouted towards the woman hunter again. The Mandalorian woman raised her hand up, waving backwards at the man for patience. The Houk took to blustering then, "Don't think cause you're some high-faultin' Mandalorian decked out in a tin can, that you can strong-arm me. I've squashed bigger bugs than you!"

"I don't have to be any bigger to take you down and spit you out. I'll even let the little Zabrak dance on your corpse when I'm done. You've only got five seconds to figure out if that's the way you want this to go." The woman tapped the barrel of her blaster up against her belted waist, so that the clicking sound resonated steadily through the hangar. Then she started counting. Kayla was dumbfounded by her sheer nerve, gaped at her as her voice echoed harshly, there, "One ... two ..."

"Fine! I'll go find him without yer stupid Mando manners gettin' in the way. Get out of my way!" The Mandalorians both stood there like a solid wall, quietly watchful as the Houk took to stomping his way out of the hangar. They didn't mock or taunt him, didn't deride him for running away. Although Kayla thought it was obvious as Hell that was precisely what he was doing. And she turned awestruck eyes towards the woman who'd made him back down.

The woman's dark eyes were glaring over at her now, though. She muttered some more of those strange words, and the man turned to face Kayla, scanning her small frame slowly as he replied. Kayla was confused, "I don't understand you."

The blonde-haired man grunted softly then, "You've got a busted rib, at least." It didn't help alleviate her confusion, though. She heard enough stories about Mandalorians to doubt they cared about anything the Houk broke. She wondered if they were trying to trick her, shook her head as if trying to clear away the cobwebbed frustration of that particular thought.

The woman suddenly loomed in front of her, slowly waving a stim back and forth, "Can fix it so it doesn't hurt so bad. Can even fix it so you can find a safe way off-world. Totally up to you."

Kayla glared at her for the antics, "And all I have to do is betray a good man I happen to care about."

The woman leaned her head to the side, not smiling, "Either I find him. Or the Houk does. It’s up to you which one of us gets to him first. Just make up your mind."

Kayla bit her lip. Another image of Zale flashed through her memory, his sardonic grin as he'd touched her chin so lightly. The Houk would turn his face into karfing goo, she thought. Kayla shivered at the thought, "Promise me you won't kill him."

The woman shook her head emphatically, "Nope. I heard a story once or twice about the man's aim at Mandoes. If he shoots at us, I'll probably shoot back." The other one, the blonde-haired Mandalorian standing nearby her still stiffened angrily when she spoke of Zale's fight with the Mandalorians. Kayla glanced at him uneasily, but the woman dragged her attention back, "Where is he?"

Kayla breathed in slowly, deliberately crossing her fingers as she hoped, hoped. Stupid, stupid, she thought to herself. There was no way for this mess to get better. She wanted to slink down onto the ground and whine and wail pitiful, bleating sounds. There was so much blood in her mouth! Kayla finally bit the words out, "He went to the power station. Trying to get the power turned back on, to help out the warden. He told me to get away from here. Please …please. Don’t let the Houk hurt him. Please!”

She stood frozen in place when the woman grunted and reached over to smooth hands along her side, checking carefully. She heard the hiss of the stim, heard the clink of the woman's armor as she went down to a knee and fiddled against her swollen ankle. The relief Kayla felt was immense, so heady that she actually swayed there on her feet and whimpered.

Kayla was finally, utterly _done_. The numbness spread through her, the shock too much to handle. She could hear the woman talking, saying something. But Kayla looked back at her with morose, unknowing eyes. She saw the woman shaking her head, turning to speak to the man still standing just behind her.

Eventually they left her there. Alone.

The way she wanted, actually.

* * *

He found her exactly where Kastiel had said she left her. The little female reminded him of Mako for some reason. Probably something to do with her tiny as hell frame. Except this one wasn't the rough-edged girl that crewed the Bad Boy, all plugged into the ship's computers the way she was so often.

Nope, this was a female breaking apart. Gault sighed, wondering what the Hell Zale was thinking, leaving such a vulnerable creature in a place like this. Then again who'd think this little girl would stay put, rather than hightail her cute little ass out of here? Oh, yea. He could almost envision the argument between them – Zale thought she would go, so he rushed off and left her.

Zale always was that much a dumbass. The stupid idiot should've made damn sure she was actually moving before he took off on whatever hairbrained scheme he was so certain was worth it. Fucking Zale. Ass!

Now he nudged her with the toe of his boot and she yelped in fearful shock, spinning around. A scream trembled in her throat as she faced him. He watched her, the way her big brown eyes blinked in her small face. Her facial tattoos were a series of slender lines that neatly bisected her features into four pale quadrants. Oh, she was cute enough, and she was older than he'd thought when he first caught sight of her. She was frowning as she examined him, eyeing his horns with no-little curiosity.

She whispered, suddenly, "Are you Tyresius?"

Fuck and shit. What bullcrap luck he continued to suffer. Of fucking course Zale would've told stories about Tyresius Lokai to his little female … Was she his friend? Or his lover? Or worse – was she both those things? Because Gault would lay real money on the table, that Zale Barrows loved the little Zabrak.

It’s the only thought which helped Gault catch the scowl that wanted to bloom on his narrow face in time enough, actually. Instead, he managed to plaster a pure shit-eating grin on his face just before sweeping down into the stateliest of bows, his red-skinned hand rising up into the air over his head as he went, singing out, "Nope, not me. _I_ am called Gault Rennow. I was a purveyor of fine speeders once upon a time, back on Tattooine.” Gault clutched his heart dramatically then, “Until I was attacked by a monkey-lizard. That’s a very funny story, too, and trust me. But I'm quite sure now's not the time for it, either."

Kayla considered him with a bewildered expression, shaking her head, "What's it time for, then?"

Gault actually laughed, "It’s time to haul ass, of course! I’m not sure you really understand how fucked up it is outside. The Empire’s busily freeing its crazier buddies from where the Republic locked them up, and that’s bad enough." He glanced towards the nearby doors. Kastiel and Torian had slipped away less than an hour ago, working their way towards some target. This one was an old Exchange thug who was still marked for bounty, apparently. And the dumbass had apparently decided to hunker along the pathway Kas was using to chase after Zale, heh. "But not every one of the fuckers running loose now want to be in Imperial control, any more than they liked the Republic’s so-called hospitality. And those splotches on your face make it clear enough you’ve already met some of them."

Kayla sniffled drearily. The motion pulled against the dried blood at the corner of her mouth, as she mumbled despondently, "Why would you care?"

Gault sighed dramatically, "When you figure out the answer to _that_ question, clue me in, too, okay?" The answer confused her, he could tell. Kayla seemed to muse over it for a long while, idly chewing on her lip as she considered. But finally she only slanted a glance towards him, abandoning the entire subject of whatever was motivating his presence there to focus on the issue at hand instead, “But where am I supposed to go?"

Gault chuckled happily, grateful to be back on more solid ground in the sheer practical motions that needed making right then. Rather than anything as personal as an old, old favor he definitely owed to a real friend.

But Kayla only watched him, shooting another quick look towards the broken edge of Gault’s left horn. Zale only once told her the story of how Tyresius Lokei broke his horn, bent down over a half-empty bottle of Corellian ale as he described the Devaronian he’d heard was dead. Kayla wasn’t sure how Tyresius was still alive, or why Zale thought he was dead. Hells, she didn’t even know for sure that Gault Rennow really was Tyresius. But she could easily tell the devaronian didn’t want to talk about it, either.

"Please, my dear! I'm going to turn you over to the finest example of Republic privateering genius, have no fear!" Gault crowed, pointing one of his long, slender fingers up over his head for dramatic emphasis. Kayla only blinked at him.


	88. Becoming Determined

She heard them coming, long before they realized she was right there. Or even before they were close enough to catch sight of her.

Mostly it was the tramp of their feet, which was loud and raucous through the cold air in front of them. But they were chattering like a bunch of wild things, too. Like animals, or any dumb beasts that lacked intelligence enough to care or worry as they moved through the tangled mess the Belsavis prison had become. They were just stupidly sloppy, counting more on their numbers than any sort of skill.

Kastiel didn't even stop what she was doing, only because she found it more imperative to wash the splatters of blood from her hair than to turn and face a measly gang of criminals who fooled themselves thinking they were somehow invincible because they'd banded together to snatch up some riot guns.

She shivered as she looked down at her reflection in the blue pool of water she was hunkered next to. The water was icy cold, enough that Kastiel's hands were blanched of color from the shock of exposure. But she was able to make out the clean strands of her black hair, watched as the blood she'd washed out slowly thinned and diluted against the surface of the water, drifting away until it was gone. She turned her head, regarded the glint of metal in her ear. She touched it softly, trying to make sense of the low, steady buzzing sound coming from the implant lately.

Damn it! It never failed, that her implants would act up in the worst possible time. Kas shook her head, flinging droplets of water away from her face. She didn’t want the wetness running down into the opening of her armored chestplate; she could feel her nipples tightening at the thought of the coldness running down over her breasts and she shuddered delicately. She did grimace as some of the drips of water edged along the line of her jaw, just under her ear.

"It's a woman!"

Kastiel sighed when the ringing cry finally sounded over the tiny clearing. She rooted around against the ground nearby her boots, grasping her gloves as she climbed back to her feet. She only glanced towards the pale-skinned prisoners while she calmly went about pulling her gloves over her cold hands. The pack of men were all rattataki, so their skin color made them look even more macabre against the dirty-looking, orange-colored tunics the Republic counted as garments for the trash they dumped on Belsavis. They looked half-dead actually, Kas thought. The Lady of Pain, on Tattooine, hadn't seemed so ghastly. Although it was something to do with the woman's gender. Or the hot suns of that particular planet, maybe.

Kastiel finally shook her head as the entire lot of stupid-looking males only stood there, gaping at her, "You all look like you crawled out of a damn grave. Why don't you guys go find some other hole in the ground and climb right back inside it, then? Safer for you, I think."

It was a somewhat lean Rattataki standing in front of the group who took the lead. Kastiel wasn’t surprised – someone was always determined to lead. Kastiel was more keen than not to avoid leading large groups of any particular bent anywhere, actually. But she did recognize leadership when she saw it.

The man was slightly framed, of course. Not Kastiel counted on his size as any measure of his ability. He was tough enough he'd managed to take down whatever guards once possessed the guns, at least. She wondered if the milling mob of Rattataki knew the things only stunned victims, instead of killing them.

The Republic was damned stupid when it came to the question of killing. As if killing was so much less cruel, than tormenting someone with years of confinement on a world like this damned mess of a place. Or worse, dumping them in one of the endless machines she caught sight of, where criminals were locked into their own minds and frozen in the middle of real nightmares. Just the chance of such a fate horrified Kastiel.

Except the rattataki leader wasn’t so clumsy as the men following behind him, either. The pale bastard clenched his white-skinned fingers against the stock of his gun with an expert touch, rather, and he glanced around the area quickly. He was obviously not stupid enough to assume Kastiel was wandering Belsavis all by her itty bitty self. Not like the others who followed along behind him. And damn but they continued chattering, which only annoyed her hearing even more. She shook her head, annoyed again by the buzzing in her ear.

"Haven't been able to touch a woman in over a year …"

"Yea. Even human, her tail's worth sinking inside of."

"What's she doing here?"

"She has blasters!"

"Fuck that … she has a _pussy_ and I want it! Move out of the way, Ivory!"

The leader turned his gaze towards the rumbling cluster of criminals, snarling as he waved them back. "Shut up! Every one of you!" Kastiel avoided laughing at him for the name they called him. Ivory’s glowing white skin made him look ghastly against the backdrop of snow and cragged crevasse wall on the far rock wall behind his head. She certainly didn’t let anyone of them know she understood every single word they were jabbering back and forth at each other, even without the translator in her ear. Ivory grunted, "Woman, where's your man?"

Kastiel leaned against a single booted foot as she crossed her arms over her chest, letting droplets of water continue dripping slowly down the front of her chestplate. She bit back a tired sigh. This entire confrontation might have proved easier if blood still caked her hair into thick clumps when the gaggle of rattatki men found her, actually. It wasn’t so much that she meant to bathe herself in her enemy’s blood, mind you – and the Weequay brute of a criminal they hunted down in the Belsavis brush spewed way more blood than Kastiel anticipated, too – but coming upon a hunter splattered liberally with thick ropes of blood and gore usually intimidated enemies before they were stupid enough to act. Most criminals steered clear of the more violent and brutish bounty hunters, at least.

Now, she calmly cocked her head to the side. She nearly smirked towards the Rattataki, "It looks like you have men of your own, actually. Be content with what you’ve got, at least. Because _I’m_ possessive."

Ivory scowled at her. It wasn’t that that he felt embarrassed, and he certainly didn’t flush gray with any kind of shame. Ivory liked women well enough, and he rarely lacked feminine companions even here on Belsavis. But he didn’t turn down a male’s attentions, not when they were available, at least. Why turn away some pleasure when it was easily offered, he thought. Physical release was just that simple to achieve, considering the bootlickers that followed him everywhere he turned.

No, what bothered Ivory right now was his feeling that this particular woman was that dangerously sharp. He figured she'd sized him perfectly, in the merest glance and then disregarded him as a threat. It was a heady sort of confidence that permeated her, and Ivory tended to steer clear of anyone who showed it so brazenly. This woman hunter was not someone he wanted to tangle with, and his every sense screamed to veer off from confronting her.

He slid his gaze down her front, considering the way the thick surface of her armor curved brilliantly around her utterly feminine form until it almost seemed a part of her. Her blasters had handles that were smoothed from long, long use and they both fit snugly against her prettitly shaped hips. This woman wasn't _easy_ , not by any stretch of the word. And not even the scars on her throat changed his mind. Damn, but the scars only heightened his anxious consideration. He breathed out the word under his breath, uneasy, "Mandalorian."

Kastiel pushed her wet hair back, tucking it behind her ear until Ivory could see the twinkle of the implants embedded there. He wondered if she was deaf, and then briefly thought how to use that advantage against the hunter. But then Kastiel smirked at him only slightly and another tingle of unease skirted Ivory’s spine. And that’s when one of the men following him pressed closer to Ivory’s back to grumble aloud, "There's only her. Come on! It'll make the others easier to handle, if they can burn off that angst for some female flesh." Ivory grunted solidly, thinking. The men really were tense and angry, and he might lose control of them if he didn’t give them something that counted as a prize or reward.

But Ivory shook his head, hard.

This one was no one’s prize. She just wouldn’t be won. In fact, Ivory would probably lose far more of his men trying to make her into a prize, than if he just walked away now. His instincts screamed at him to step around her with his hands held up, rather.

It was bad enough that a smuggler captain was on Belsavis looking for him, and damn that particular human, too. The brief glance of the smuggler that Ivory caught through the holotransmission with Squarg and Buss was just enough to know he had to keep moving to avoid getting caught up in whatever mess Rogun was involved in now. But it certainly seemed that black-haired humans were better avoided lately, as least for Ivory. He certainly wasn’t counting on Squarg and Buss to even slow down the human captain, anyway. So the last thing he needed right now was to have any pissed off Mandoes chasing him, too.

And he wouldn't be surprised if there was a damn troop of the warriors following along behind _this_ female, too. Although Ivory wasn’t fool enough to assume any man was required to make this Mandalorian anymore impressive, not like the fool men following him who assumed her sex made her a weaker, better target. Ivory knew that her tits marked her an even more dangerous opponent, actually. It was the women Mandalorians who focused on skill and verve on the battlefield, rather than mere brute strength.

Ivory remembered a joking conversation he had once with a Mandalorian mercenary, a man who's skill with a vibrodagger had been a frightening spectacle: "Don't underestimate our women. Mando women take it as an insult if you call them soft. Or delicate! Don't ever use that word talking about our females! That sort of sugary shit will only earn you a swift ass-kicking, and you can count yourself lucky if that’s all."

"Most women would take it as a compliment."

The Mandalorian only shrugged, "But what man can depend on a dainty, fragile creature to defend what's important to him every time he's called away to hunt or fight? Don't fool yourself. The one who hands a Mandalorian his first weapon, who teaches him how to use it – that isn't his father. It's his _mother_."

Now one of Ivory's men tried sidling around him. Maybe he thought he’d reach the woman. Ivory could even hear him panting with eagerness. Ivory saw the glint in the woman’s eyes as she stood there, and he knew she noted every motion the men were making behind him.

She relaxed against the heels of her boots, loosening her muscles as she prepared to maneuver. Her face tightened and she raised up her chin only slightly so the burgundy lines across her throat showed brighter as she looked past their group. Over Ivory's shoulder, basically. And Ivory suddenly, vividly remembered that Mandalorian man's parting advice, too: "A Mando woman defending her offspring is the toughest thing you'll ever see, hands down. Almost as tough – almost! – is the man who defends her when she's fighting alongside him in the field. A Mando's honor-bound to protect his woman."

Ivory spun around. He tried grabbing his man just above the elbow to push him away even as Ivory himself sprang backwards, tumbling against the other Rattataki. The cluster of men yelled angrily at him, "What're you doing, Ivory, damn it!" Their angry exclamations very nearly drowned out the sound of the loud crack that pealed through the air just then.

Ivory watched as blood bloomed along the caved-in side of the fool head of that doggish hanger-on who'd tried sidling around him to get at the woman. The idiot wasn’t panting anymore; he only wheezed out burbling spits of sound, as he slowly folded into a dead heap on the ground. Ivory turned his head to consider the bulging end of the electrostaff that felled the dead man, held up by a new Mando figure who bounced the staff against his side. The blonde-haired Mandalorian tilted his chin in the woman’s direction, grunting out a low mando’a greeting of some sort.

Ivory shifted his attention back to the woman again. Of course she spent the brief moments their attention was diverted by the killing to lift up both of her blasters, training it on the cluster of rattataki men with steady precision. She barked at them, "Like I said, find a damn hole to hide in. Preferably far from me and mine." Ivory lifted up both his hands in a universal gesture of surrender, smiling lightly.

"Of course, of course. Never intended otherwise, I swear! Enjoy your sojourn on Belsavis, by all means."

Torian growled at the retreating figures as he edged closer to stand next to Kas. They both watched the Rattataki practically stumbling over themselves to follow along after Ivory as he stepped away, sidestepping backwards until he was a safer distance from the pair. Then they all spun around to take off running. Torian nudged Kastiel's shoulder with his own, grunting, "At least you didn't get blood on you this time."

Kastiel grinned at him, "That's only because you stood in the way." She gestured towards the pack where Torian stored his commlink, "Did you get a signal off?"

Torian nodded, still watching the Rattataki rushing to get out of sight. "You were right. Place is rigged to make getting a signal out purely difficult. But I did find some high ground and I was able to register the successful bounty." Then he glanced at her, his lip curling into a small moue of satisfaction, "I liked standing in the way of you and danger even better."

"That's only because you have an overdeveloped protective urge."

"Are we talking about me? Or you?"

She laughed, "I seem to recall you mentioning how good we fit together."

He grunted low, "Yea. I like _that_ , too."

* * *

Zale sighed towards the holoimage of the prison's new warden. Better than shouting angrily at the man. Hells, he'd known Graal for several years and he’d always thought the dumpy-looking fellow was pleasant enough. But there simply wasn't any reason to add to the problems facing the man.

Apparently Graal had watched his predecessor gunned down right there in front of his very eyes, a man he had admired and looked up to, no less. His mentor, for lack of a better word. There were thick new stress lines bracketing his mouth and tension lined Graal’s dark eyes as he contemplated the disaster facing his new command. And none of it was his fault. Damn the Empire!

No, Zale really didn't want to bother Graal with this small, niggling problem. Namely, his own sorry butt running around willy-nilly through the prison while all fucking hell was breaking loose. Very much literally, to boot. But he couldn't point out the real impetus for his motions, either. He didn't think that would go down over-well, that Graal would be cheerful somehow if he pointed out the friend he'd long since buried underneath Belsavis.

He tried imagining that conversation, pictured it in his head, him leaning forward to say, "Well, see, Graal, it's like this. Years back, I had a real friend - and I don't have too many of those, mind you - who needed a place to hide. Mainly from the Hutts determined to put a blaster bolt in the center of her pretty forehead. So yea ... I had her put on ice down below in one of the more isolated sections of the prison. That's why I've stuck so close to the place all these years, in fact. I’ve been keeping an eye on her."

Zale glanced at Graal's image, almost laughing as he considered how Graal would look at him if he really did say so much. The man would probably twist those pudgy lips of his into a nasty grimace, open and close them several times over. Until he looked like a startled fish deep in some far-off ocean, maybe. But eventually Graal would find semblance enough to lambast Zale's underhanded guardianship of the cell where he tucked Hylo. Hey, if Zale were real lucky he’d end up behind the one of the stasis fields here on Belsavis himself, hah!

But first, Zale needed the power grid to be online again. If the life support to the section where Hylo was tucked away – if she died like that, just gasping out desperate breaths in a fucking box and all by herself in the dark – then every bit of it was only so much wasted. Zale refused to fail Hylo that damned bad and after all this time, no less ... But Graal was frantic. He held out both his hands, imploring, "Barrows! There’s no time, do you hear? There are more Imperial ships coming into the system even now, and I can’t even say how many already landed! They’re just randomly opening doors and disabling systems wherever they find them! Some of these criminals haven’t seen the light of day in years, and all of them are really pissed off about that."

"Yea, I understand what’s going on, Graal. I had to sidestep quite a few of the bastards just to reach this station, mind you,” Zale narrowed his eyes as he watched Graal’s holoimage. He noticed a small smudge of blood on the rank insignia pressed onto Graal’s broad chest now. But he didn’t point out the stain, either. It was hard enough for Graal, having to accept a blood-stained promotion, anyway. He shrugged toward Graal instead, “And you do remember how many of them I myself brought here to be locked up, right? But we need this power grid back on line! Besides, it's too late. I sent Kayla off with my ship so there's no way for me to get out of here, regardless. Sorry, warden, but you're stuck with me."

Graal looked confused suddenly, "What the hell are you talking about? We haven't monitored any ship leaving from those landing zones, Barrows. It's why I contacted you, to tell you to evacuate while you still can. For pity's sake, some of the guards have families we were hoping you could provide passage off-world for. It was a Republic privateer who reached them in time but only barely!"

Zale stumbled back, looking towards his utility droid just as the thing finished the repairs to the power couplings that would help keep the grid active through the most vital systems of the prison. Including life support for stasis units galore, he knew.

He remembered quite suddenly the first time he laid eyes on Hylo Visz. She shot him a sardonic grin while she sized him up, her purple-dyed hair dusted with silver sparkles. Then she trilled towards her devaronian lover, "Seems we'll have to break Zale, here, from his terrible habit of dressing in brown all the time. Right, Ty?" It became a running joke of a game, complete with gifts of shirts and pants left in random places – his closet, right there as he opened the door, the very barstool where he was about to settle his ass into place, and once even, the bed he shared with a lady friend the night before – and all of them in a wild maelstrom of garish colors. Hylo amused and befuddled him by turns, until he finally admitted to her one night, laughing the entire while, "Damn it, girl, I do believe I love you. Only no tongue action, not from me. Your lizard-brain of a devaronian should be good enough for that much, at least."

Then Tyresius broke her heart. It broke his own heart watching Hylo cry from the pain of it. She begged him, begged, "Please, Zale. I just want to go to sleep, just lay down forget all about this. Please!" Zale only wanted to soothe her that much. And only for a little while, he told her.

But he never imagined the price would be so high. Kayla, Kayla … Zale could only imagine how afraid she was, how scared but she stayed. Who was it, he wondered. Which one of the criminals found her in that hangar and how much did they hurt her? The agony of the wondering nearly doubled him over, until he wanted nothing so much than to curl up on the flor in a weeping ball of messy sobs and wails of grief. That, or hunt down every fucked up denizen of the Belsavis prison and make them pay for the fear and pain his Kayla endured.

Damn them all to every Hell! Zale's face hardened into stiff, dangerous determination. Graal felt the sigh that slipped past his lips as he watched him, knew that Zale Barrows was singularly focused on the task now. There was no stopping him, not now. Graal scowled, “You should get out of there.”

Zale only shrugged, “You’ll probably carry me out of here with blaster bolts all through my damned skull, Graal. Just shut up now.”


	89. I Don't Even Want You

Torian curled his hands against the curve of Kastiel's shoulders, yanking her back into his chest before she tumbled headlong into the glistening sheen of the force-field barrier. He grunted softly when he felt her backside pressed against him.

But Kas barely noticed; she was too agitated as she leaned her head sideways. Torian’s gaze only just managed to sharpen on Kastiel’s subtle grimace of pained upset, right before she dropped her head far enough he couldn’t see her face anymore. Then all he could see was the dark fall of her hair. It brushed softly along the side of his jaw so that he could smell the gentle fragrance of the soap she used to clean the dark tendrils. It smelled like fruit. Berries of some kind, Torian thought.

Then Kastiel grumbled sourly at Barrows through the shimmering veil, "Are you trying to be a pain in my ass, Barrows? Or does it just come naturally?" Torian felt a brief spurt of amusement when he saw Zale’s face twist into a look of utter consternation. Like Kastiel was something strange and unexpected, just in the first brief snarl she gifted him. Torian was proud as he held her close to him ... because _his_ hunter was good at breaking her opponents from their balance.

Torian returned to watching the human man behind the field, and he studied him carefully. Zale Barrows looked haggard and very nearly spent. He wasn’t so much younger than Gault, really. But only because Devaronians lived longer. The two men were still contemporaries.

But Zale’s clothes were neatly lined, rather, and they were colored circumspectly in plain creams and ordinary browns. It was obvious he didn’t share Gault’s flamboyant fashion sense, at least.

Zale’s short-cropped light-brown hair was standing on end, too, and it was spiky with sweat and grit. He probably pushed his slender fingers through the strands several times and very recently, until the ends were clumped and thick. His slanted eyes were liquid brown and probably showed a good-natured light ordinarily.

But right now Zale glared back at them with angry and anxious determination. Torian could well imagine him planning the fight to break the Mandalorian blockade at the Hydian Way – he was only unfaltering. Plainly fixed, on winning against their hunt. But Torian still couldn’t imagine him as any sort of friend of Gault’s. Zale’s face was bent more serious than Torian had ever seen from Gault, at least.  

Then Kastiel shifted against Torian suddenly. The backs of her thighs pressed softly into the hard plate that covered his groin, and Torian thought how caring for one woman might be enough to make a bond between the two men who followed her. Because he would’ve killed Gault, except he was that blasted firm in his loyalty to Kastiel. He didn’t back off even once; just fought whenever she told him. It was _Kastiel_ who earned trust between them.

That was the friendship Zale gave Gault’s woman, too. It’s what Zale was fighting for now, even. Torian watched the recordings Mako scrounged from the holonet as they prepared for the hunt, just a piece of holotransmission made during that stupid auction of his double's body that Gault had playfully coordinated. They had all listened to it, in fact. With Gault left staring into nothing with a hard, terrible look on his face.

"... _Come on, Barrows! If anyone's owed a bit of payback against Tyresius Lokai, it's you_!"

" _Not going to waste my time arguing with you. I won't be there, that's all_."

" _People are going to think it's strange you're not there fighting for the chance to piss on his body, is all I'm saying_."

" _I'll only say this, the one time. I ever hear that your bodily waste - piss, shit ... spit, even! If anything of you gets anywhere near Ty's body, I'll beat you to within an inch of your life! Do you understand me? Good, then. ... I think this conversation is over, don't you_?"

Torian shook his head as he considered the angry, frustrated expression on Zale Barrows’ face. The man was likely as bemused as Torian was whenever he really stopped long enough to think about Tyresius-turned-Gault. A red-raced, sharp-chinned Devaronian who once battled Mandalorians only to follow one with single-minded and fervent loyalty.

Gault – with his shifty eyes and glances, with his swearing of the most self-serving greed, and all of his scheming – all of it was enough to offend Torian’s sensibilities. Even before he considered the Hydian Way. Torian could nearly hear M’hael’s rough-timbered voice, the Mando’a words in M’hael’s gravelly tone whenever he remembered his mother: " _I like remembering how strong my_ buir _always was. Her messages at the start of the Blockade told me how good a fight it was. They turned aside the Jedi, even! Then suddenly, after so much victory - she died. Not on the end of a blade, but thrown out into cold, dead space by a smuggler’s cannon. I could never really wrap my head around it_."

But the Hydian Way seemed so much far away whenever he really considered Gault Rennow. Whenever he thought the man might be little more than a bitter waste of spirit, Torian only remembered that first night on Taris. He remembered the look on Gault’s face when he watched Kastiel and when he worked so hard to soothe the nightmares tormenting the hunter’s nighttime rest. He remembered the way Gault waved towards him, " _I realized a little while back … that she was looking for you. And I want her to be able to find you this time_." Gault’s care of Kastiel was implicit, in every motion he made and his loyalty to the bounty hunter neatly earned him Torian’s esteem, too.

Although Torian certainly didn’t make any habit of saying it aloud, either. He was far more quick to criticize the devaronian, rather. Especially any of the schemes he tried foisting onto Kastiel. Considering his history, Torian was sure that’s how Zale Barrows probably treated Gault’s friendship, too. Going between ignoring him and sometimes arguing with him, that is. And Torian felt annoyed when he realized he held common ground with a man on the other side of the hunt he was making. The other side of the barrier, to boot. Zale’s face was washed with a blur of crimson from the barrier’s glow, even.

Zale snorted suddenly, as he tried considering Kastiel's features through the red glow. But she was tucked up alongside Torian, so their faces nestled together with Kastiel’s temple just under the nub of his chin, and it was difficult to really see her. Torian grunted softly then, as he lowered his arms so that Kastiel could step closer to the barrier. She tapped against the energized surface and that’s when Zale really recognized her, so that his mouth twisted with angry disgust, "I know who you are! Hell, I was even looking forward to meeting you! Ironic, mind you. This was the planet where I would’ve brought you."

Kastiel laughed lightly, and the tattoo stretched over the soft span of her throat actually twisted until it looked like real fingers caressing the scars Zale could only barely discern through the vivid glow dividing them. She told him, "Well, that would've been plainly funny, Barrows. Not sure you can really wrap your head around why I’m so amused. But I suppose this place really is your own personal depository. Which vault are you chasing after, really?" Zale's eyes flashed worriedly. Kastiel chuckled again, “Yea, Barrows. I know you better than you know me. Believe me.”

Then the sound of pounding feet filled the place.

Torian glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing on the lumbering frame of the Houk as he approached. Kastiel sighed as she smoothly slid out of the Houk’s path. Just in time. Because the big Houk practically flung himself full-bore against the security barrier, bellowing loud enough even Barrows flinched back in instinctive defensiveness, "There you are! Let me in there, damn you! Damn you, Zale!" The Houk banged and kicked and rammed himself against the barrier, yelling madly.

Torian mumbled towards Kas, " _Mir'osik! Kaysh mirsh solus._ " He glanced at her, prepared to see the glint of amusement in her gaze. But she was grimacing as she rubbed her ear, pulling the soft lobe between her fingers even as pain twisted her lips. Torian frowned as he returned his gaze to the Houk, listening to the bangs and repeated screetching that came whenever he crashed against the force field.

Kastiel continued tugging her earlobe, biting her lip to keep from complaining. Torian knew she had been complaining about an issue with one of her implants. But the grimace on her face, the moue of distress that twisted her soft mouth as she instinctively leaned back from the Houk as if to avoid the brilliant tenor of sound his temper was making on the shield.

Torian snarled towards the Houk, "Enough, _or'dinii_." Kastiel rasped another pained sound when the Houk threw himself against the barrier again, screaming aloud while the sound of sizzling energy filled the air. Torian's golden gaze turned hard and cold as he stepped closer, fingering the controls against the side of his electrostaff, "Stop. Or I’ll hurt you. Badly."

The Houk spun around, glaring at both of them, "I'm going to get 'im!"

Kastiel pointed at the clunky figure, firm and angry enough Torian knew she was fast losing control over her temper. She seemed on the verge of stomping her foot, even. It was fascinating watching her, he thought. It wasn’t like Kastiel to be so offended. She normally regarded people with calmness, a nearly aloof distance laced with mild amusement. Torian realized his Kastiel didn't like this Houk. Not at all.

" _My_ target, Houk. You're seriously getting on my nerves," Kastiel growled.

"Skadge is my name. How would you like me calling you woman. Or little shit, even better."

Kastiel crossed her arms across her chest, glaring at him, "Don't fucking care what you call me. What you won't call me is the loser in this little race of ours, is all you need to worry your fat ass over."

Torian smiled tightly as Skadge roared. And that was even before he noticed that Zale Barrows was gone.

* * *

Zale tumbled out onto the ground, literally falling down onto one knee as he huffed out a breath. The narrow tunnel that lead into the interior of the cell-block behind him loomed darkly from behind narrow wedge of airlock. He inhaled sharply, holding his breath as he listened breathlessly for any sound of pursuit from the tunnel. But the only thing he could hear was the strange warbling calls from veractyls foraging through the tall grass nearby.

Zale sniffed, vainly hoping for luck enough the bastard Houk would convince the bounty hunter to beat him into damned oblivion back there. Skadge didn’t worry him overmuch – he was too stupid, too much of a brainless, lumbering thug. But the bounty hunter … oh, that one was different, Zale thought. Her sharp intelligence was obvious in the simple, briefest glance she shot him across the security field. _She_ wouldn’t stop.

If he had to choose between the two, he’d prefer to face the bounty hunter. Not that he suffered any illusions. Zale had studied her history, the hunts she made and the targets she brought down, and he well knew she was dogged in her pursuits. That was his own personal luck lately … just bloody perfect! Someone sicced the most pig-headed, stubborn, bloody-minded, and tenacious blasted bounty hunter in the galaxy onto his ass, and for a single, long moment he wondered who wanted it that much.

Zale panted. He only needed enough time – just enough! To get Hylo secured in a safe place, first. He only needed his luck to work that long enough, and stop with this stupid game of “now you see me, now you don’t” nerfshit. Hell, no one liked it when fortune was so fickle! Come on! After … well, after – it didn’t really matter what happened to him.

But if he had to choose, then he’d choose to be on the receiving end of that bounty hunter and her own brand of justice. Skadge notions of justice actually involved more pounding and beating and breaking apart, and usually of someone much smaller than his own self, to boot.

Zale could almost hear him, even now: "Fuck you, Barrows! I'll find you, I swear it! I'll break you into fucking pieces! Pieces!" Ah, good memories. They had to drag Skadge off Zale’s ship, him screaming back at him the entire way as they took him down into one of the darkest holes on Belsavis.

Figures, that no hole was deep enough to hold that bastard.

Damn it, though. If anyone deserved to rot on Belsavis, it was that fucking thug piece of filth, Skadge. He had no sense of decency. Not. One!

He only had to remember the boy, whenever he considered Skadge. Just a boy! Young enough his gangly limbs were still only barely stretching into his growing up years. Beaten to death by His dark skin was mottled with even darker bruises, and he was torn in places, with slender lengths of shattered bones that broke through his skin. Just a boy broken into pieces by Black Sun thugs, who died in his father’s arms. His father cried, and sobbed, looking up at Zale through eyes made dark with pain and tears as he vowed, "I'll make this mean something. He'll not die for nothing! I swear it!" But Zale only sighed, looking away towards the trash-strewn alleys of Coruscant.

Because nothing would ever make the boy's death worthwhile. Not his father's angry determination, as he joined the Justicars and made his way to the organization’s highest ranks, even. Not even Skadge being shoved into Belsavis’ cells, either. The best Zale could hope for wasn’t worth, or justice -- but just to make sure Coruscant was that much safer for Skadge being taken away from its streets, rather.

But the Black Sun managed to make such damage, only because of the Blockade. The damned Mandalorians! Their Blockade at the Hydian Way sent the entire world of Coruscant into depravity, and Skadge came crawling out of that sludge. It figures that it would be a Mandalorian now, who came hunting him through Belsavis’ vaults.

The Mando woman watched him like she knew him. It confused Zale, the way she looked at him through the field. What if she really did know where he was headed, what if she really did hunt him down before he saved Hylo? But _how_ could she know it? Zale frowned, slowly rising back to stand there and look across the ground towards the ranging lizards with their brightly glistening feathers. The low-throated calls the creatures made as they continued grazing rose up into the air and under the trees.

A damned Mandalorian. His gods-damned rotten luck lately! Zale wanted to scream. But he had no more time.

Zale leaped down from a the rocky outcropping and he landed knee-deep in a running creek of frigid water. Zale shivered. But he turned and began rushing towards the only help he thought he might count on in the area, at one of the brief outposts the Republic was using to regroup their guards and soldiers. He'd gather together some of the men, and he’d head deeper into the prison. He wouldn’t fail Hylo, not today. He promised her! And he’d already paid such a high price to keep that promise, too.

He wouldn't let anyone -- certainly not some damned Mandalorian hunter -- find her. Not now.

* * *

"We’re supposed to fix this thing? There's hardly enough left to put back together into a working machine again!" The slender-framed technician looked wearily over the pile of scrap metal strewn across the table, his human features lined with distress. His Kubaz assistant kept ducking behind him – as if the human could stop Skadge. As if.

Bah! Kastiel shot a hard glare towards Skadge, not terribly sure what bothered her more. The caved-in head of the droid that she’d found Skadge jumping up and down on top of, maybe. Or the ugly bruises that marred the technician's face as he regarded the wrecked droid, now. But then the tech flinched when Skadge grumbled and stepped closer.

Yea, it was definitely the bruises.

Kastiel snarled at Skadge, "I'm getting real damn tired of you knocking everyone useful to my hunt all over the place, you dumb Houk. Lift another fist, and I'll take it off. You understand me?" Skadge opened his mouth, probably prepared to say something truly stupid. Or he might just yell at her, maybe. But he was only smart enough to shut his mouth before a single sound actually emerged. Hell, he shut his mouth so sharply Kas heard his teeth snap together. He finally just stood there, glaring at her with dangerously anger. Kastiel didn’t care, though.

Kastiel's head ached too badly right then. The pain reverberated up along both sides of her face until her temple throbbed in a nearly solid pulse of terrible distress. She refrained from rubbing against the implant in her ear, though.

She was intent on obscuring the pain. From Skadge, firstly. Because he would likely think her weak enough to openly challenge her right then and there. But she didn’t want Torian to know, either. It would offend his more strong protective urges, basically knock him off-balance if he knew how much she was hurting. She didn’t think an unhinged fighter would emerge from a battle in one sweet piece, either. Kas almost wished Torian wasn't there, in fact. Almost, until she looked over at him and saw his golden gaze looking back worriedly towards her.

She bit back any gooey, sappy words she might want to say to Torian, and then turned towards the Republic technicians Skadge dragged out from whatever brief hidey-hole they'd tried using, rather. Kastiel grumbled, "I’m not interested in making the droid operate again. Just get inside its head. I need to know where its master was heading." She leaned closer, pointing towards the droid's curved, crushed head, "Make it happen."

The two technicians glanced at each other, grimacing. Or at least the skinny human grimaced. Kastiel only assumed the curling end of the Kubaz’s snout was a close approximation of a grimace, too. The squeaking sounds he was making certainly didn’t sound overly happy, either. The two of them whispered to each other rapidly for a few, brief moments.

But the human finally shrugged dispiritedly. He looked over at her as he swiped his swollen cheek with a shaking hand, "I think we can retrieve information from the circuitry. It won't be easy, though, and it could take a while."

"We ain't got all damn day!" Skadge yelled at the man, who cringed backwards from the angry Houk. But Kastiel jabbed at Skadge with a pointed finger against his bulging shoulder, "Shut up! You make anymore noise and I'll crack your damn skull!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"No, I can guarantee you wouldn't _like_ it, Houk. Trust me."

Skadge rumbled angrily. He clenched his fists tightly as he watched Kastiel spin around to stomp towards the far end of the room, keeping her back turned towards the Houk. Torian followed her, stepping around to face her as she lowered her head from obvious distress.

He glanced over her shoulder, watching the two technicians as they stumbled over themselves to avoid Skadge and concentrated on working their instruments in the air over the broken droid. Then he looked back at Kastiel, pulling one of his gloves off so that he could ghost a single finger along the line of the implant he knew was bothering her, whispering, "What can I do, Kas?"

She smiled around the pouty twist of pain against her chin, "I tried keeping you in the dark."

Torian smiled tightly, "I’ve been watching you too long, not to see when you're hurting." He reached over her shoulder, fumbling through her pack for the bundle of stims he knew she kept there. She stayed still, just enjoying the press of his body against her front, the warmth of his skin as his chin brushed along her ear. She shivered in delighted comfort, listened to him grunt softly as he noted her reaction to his nearness. He grunted, "You make me wish we were alone, Kas. I'd do more, just to please you."

Kas chuckled, watching as he leaned over to hide his motions from the group across the room as he pressed the stim against the muscle of her thigh. Just above the top edge of her leg plates where he was able to reach her skin. She felt the cooling sensation of the medicine flushing its way through her leg, and then she lowered her fingers to brush along his bare knuckles, "You could tell me. Let me imagine it."

Torian glanced up at her from where he was leaned over, his golden brown eyes gleaming brightly with desire suddenly. He shot a look towards the technicians where they were working and then at the lumbering frame of the Houk as he pressed his back into the wall nearby. Skadge was watching every move the techs were making, of course.

They were far enough away, he thought. Torian raised himself straight again, smiling. He breathed through his open mouth as he lowered his jaw to smooth against her ear, licking the lobe there in a soft, gentle motion he knew always made her nerves spark with arousal. And then he started whispering – he told her how he wouldd touch her, how he would taste her, how he'd make her feel. He would leave her all warm and sated and wet, he told her ...

Skadge looked over at the Mandalorians. The man was close enough to the hunter Skadge could barely see his face, as he pressed his mouth against her ear. Skadge frowned darkly as he realized the Mando was blathering bullshit quietly into her ear so he couldn't hear what they were planning.

They would keep him out from taking down Zale, he knew it, and he clenched his meaty hands into rock-hard fists as he considered being cheated out of the chance to see that human bastard smashed apart. Skadge harrumphed loudly, refusing to be cut out so simply as that. Damn them all! But he’d earned the revenge he planned during all these years he was kept trussed up so neat and tidy here on this shit-hole of a planet! And he wouldn’t let anyone rob him of it now! No way!

He was going to pound on Zale. He’d get him to spill the name of the fucking Hutt who turned on him and gave him up to blasted Republic justice.

_Justice_ , he snorted. The only justice Skadge understood was the street kind, that the guy who was tougher and stronger - that guy was always the one who emerged on top of the heap. Skadge only refused to be the one on the bottom of the pile. Shit, it was Barrows who’d pay for Skadge being dumped in this hole as long as this!

Skadge glanced towards the Mandalorians again. The man was just stepping back from the hunter, pulling his glove back into place over his hand as he moved. Torian Cadera looked like he’d just eaten a piece of sweet candy and was savoring the taste. Then his golden-eyed gaze met Skadge's from across the way and became wooden, like a mask had fallen down over his face.

Skadge wanted to spit in self-disgust as he realized the truth. He only didn’t know sooner, because Houks generally kept their females away from the chance they’d get hurt. But Mandalorians were weird and they fought right alongside their women in the field. Skadge had thought this pair was only from the same clan, and the man was some sort of guard. But no, they were mated.

What a shit-burger, Skadge thought. If he didn’t pay attention enough he might just get his own ass shot off, even.

And he would need to make fast work to get these two Mandalorians separated. Fighting one of them would prove hard enough. But both of them at the same time, fighting as a practiced team? That would be tough.

Skadge eyed the twist of the man's hand against the length of his electrostaff, as he hefted the weapon closer to his side and bent his blonde head to scan the woman's frame protectively again. Humans were so predictable; the men were always stronger and tougher. Skadge supposed it would be easier to take the woman down. Yea. He'd use her long enough to get Barrows, and then he'd beat her down into the ground and get off Belsavis somehow. Take her ship, maybe. Crap, that would be easy as pie, he thought.

So Skadge pointed at them when the Mandoes sauntered back towards the table again. Kastiel seemed more inclined to ignore him, slowly rolling her shoulders as she came closer. But he sensed how clearly she was aware of every motion he made.

It actually smarted, thinking he wasn't really fooling her. Not for a moment. It made him wonder which of the Mandoes was really the one to beat, actually. Skadge narrowed his gaze on the man again as he stepped up behind the female. Oh, the guy was protective, yea. But he obviously defined _her_ as the leader in their pairing, all the same. It confused the hell out of him, really. Skadge growled at them, "You two are hatching plans -- don't think I'm stupid! I won't let you cheat me out of my chance to get Barrows! You get me?"

Kastiel glanced towards the trembling technicians, as they both furtively eyed the looming argument with terrified uncertainty. Not surprising, she supposed. Skadge was very nearly an uncontrollable monster. And she didn't have the patience or tolerance enough to assure them she was well able to keep a handle on the beastly man. She just inhaled slowly, gathering her patience again, "No, I haven't _got_ you. Hells, I don't even want you."

Skadge scowled against the deliberate obtuseness of her response, and he growled all over again, "Look, I've been here long enough. People know me, and prisoners know to get out of my way. I can make it easier to get through them. But that means I need to be there with you." Kastiel stopped, looking at Skadge thoughtfully as she frowned. The Houk had finally provided some minor incentive to at least tolerate his presence. And he was big enough and dumb enough she could toss him towards enemies who might actually be intimidated by the lout. Skadge grinned as he watched her think it over, "You need me. Admit it."

Kastiel snorted, "Stop trying to command me. I don't take anyone’s orders that well, believe me."

Skadge nodded his large, bulbous head, shrugging, "Fine. Whatever makes you feel better." He pointed at Torian, "But your boyfriend stays back. I don't plan on being outnumbered in this deal of ours."

Torian stiffened, stepping close enough the front of his chestplate skirted Kastiel's shoulder. Every one of his muscles felt tight suddenly, like he'd been wound into a dense bundle of nervous energy all of a sudden. He glared over at Skadge, who’s bulk loomed large over Kastiel’s dark head. He knew Skadge was looking to make Kastiel weaker, and he wanted to leap across the way to break him apart right there. But Torian only leaned closer to Kas, murmuring in _Mando'a_ so only she would understand, "No! He'll try to take you down."

Kastiel slanted a brief smile towards Torian, replied in the same language, "He'll try. It might even prove a good fight. Hush, _cyarik’a_ … let him think he has a chance at winning, for now. He'll at least make it simpler to batter my way through the riots in the meantime, hmm?"

Torian shook his head, "I don't like it." Kastiel nudged him with her shoulder, letting the clink of their armors provide him the sense of assuredness she was feeling. She wanted him to know she was strong enough to handle this confrontation. And she really needed him to trust her.

So Torian sighed finally, mentally stepping back to give her the space she needed for the challenge. Another step towards soothing the hidden demons that tormented her and the doubts which still held her back, he thought. Still ... he turned his burning gaze towards the Houk. Torian growled the warning, his eyes looking like the flintiest metal there in his face as he swore, "There isn't any place far enough away, deep or dark enough. If you hurt her, I will find you. And I will hurt you _more_ than that."

Skadge felt a shiver edge along the line of his spine, and he felt his mouth falling open to gape over at Torian. He was almost glad when the Kubaz began warbling suddenly. The trilling sound saved him from looking any further into that terrible promise in Torian’s eyes.

Kastiel seemed unconcerned, though. She just glanced over her shoulder at the technicians, who were practically trembling with excitement as they sang over at her, "We’ve found something ...This must be what you needed, hunter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Mandalorian phrases:
> 
> Mir'osik - literally, "Shit for brains"  
> Kaysh mirsh solus - literally, "His brain cell's lonely". Also, "He's an idiot."  
> or'dinii - moron or fool


	90. Building the Trap

_"_ Stupid, Torian! Stupid ... Like any _di'kut_!" Jagger pointed at him, the green skin of his finger looking strongly firm even through the pale glow of light coming from the lamps there in the cantina. Torian only shrugged in that utterly patient manner of his, ignoring the sway of Jagger's pointed glare. Jagger threw his hands up into the air, harrumphing a frustrated growl as he lowered his voice down to a low lumber, "I didn't come all this way, just to sit back and watch you skip your way into a fucking trap!"

Torian scanned the cantina, briefly wondering at the persistent tenacity of Imperials. They barely nudged the surface of a Republic-dominated world but still plunked a tiny cantina there in the outpost they made. Complete with a music terminal in the corner, no less.

The place really was typically Imperial, though. Considering that the only non-human he could see in the room was his own Mirialan-bred friend, at least. Jagger’s dark green skin was on brazen display while his helmet rested against the bench where they sat together. Jagger ignored the antagonistic glares shot his way by several grizzled-looking Imperial soldiers. He only continued guzzling cups of Corellian ale, randomly belching complaints that it wasn't Mandalorian _ne'tra gal_.

"Won't have to worry about this trap you describe, if you get enough of these Imps riled up, Jagger," Torian shrugged.

Jagger just turned his head to smirk at the small group of angry-looking soldiers. He lifted his mug of ale towards them in some kind of mock salute, "Bah! The two of us can take down every single pitiful scrap in this cantina. Pretty easy, even. Don't let them fool you, either. They _all_ know it." He turned back to face Torian again, pressing closer until his face was nearly bumping into Torian's. "And stop trying to distract me! Why're you even thinking of such idiocy, let alone planning it?"

Torian glanced away from Jagger's burning gaze. He sighed, mostly because he didn’t think he would ever be able to explain it so Jagger really understood. But Torian always remember that first time he was caught in Kastiel’s gaze. When he looked down into her eyes as she lay against the ground underneath her mother’s shattered body. The way she looked up at him, splattered with blood and crying from the despair of it.

He knew even then she thought she lost, that she failed her mother and her younger siblings. He ached, looking down into her beautiful eyes. It’s why he reached out to smooth the look from her face, from her eyes. As if wiping the blood away would somehow repair the grief ripping her apart.

But nothing he did ever really wiped it away for good. There was a part of her that was still wounded and hurting. He saw it in her eyes every single time she pulled herself from the dark edge of her nightmares, looking for him. Torian knew her nights were spent fighting to keep herself from drowning in her mother’s blood.

And he was determined. Absolutely determined to wipe the blood off her face, once and for all. She won that battle, beat those _demagolka_ who'd thought to steal the lives of three children for their own gain. Because she _lived_.

She didn't believe that she was strong enough, capable enough - damn well brave enough - to save those she loved. So ... he'd show her, that's all.

But Jagger would never know that much. No matter how good a friend he was, either. Jagger would never know what it felt like to catch Kastiel up against him, there in the dark as she desperately tried to drag in another breath to keep herself from screaming. Kas was his own, _his_ woman. To provide for, to protect and to ease and to assure. And maybe to guide. He would always, always fight for her.

So Torian just looked away and shook his head, "Just tell me how you found out, _vod_."

Jagger snorted. He leaned back in his chair before lifting his mug back up to his face again, and gulped loudly. A couple of soldiers at a nearby table made several loud remarks about "Mandalorian savages." Torian didn't even blink and Jagger only belched. The Mirialan lowered his chin, rather, until he was nearly rubbing it against the upper edge of his chestplate's neckline.

It was a familiar gesture Torian recognized, and he grunted as he watched Jagger think of a proper response. His friend's hesitation was answer enough, actually, and he shot Jagger a twisted grin, "A _cyar'tomade_ among the Jedi, Jagger? You have a keen edge, then."

Jagger scowled at him, "Still trying to distract me. And don't talk about Cryssix like she's nothing but an advantage, or a tool to be used."

Torian's smile disappeared as he canted his head sideways, looking at Jagger thoughtfully. It was enough to leave Jagger squirming there in his seat. But then, there were precious few other than Torian who might have some glimmer of understanding what drove Jagger's emotions so intensely. And Jagger knew it was only because Torian loved a woman just that much, too.

But Torian just quirked a single twist of his shoulder towards him, only barely acknowledging his discomfort. " _N'eparavu_ _takisit_. Meant no harm by speaking of your little Jedi. I’m glad you found each other, is all." Jagger leaned his head forward even more then, until Torian was left to stare at his friend's forehead in bafflement. He finally reached over to punch Jagger in the shoulder, so that the Mando flew back against his chair. Jagger yelped loudly in mock upset. Torian laughed, "And, yes, Jagger. If she's sending warnings your way, she's yours. No one of us will say different. Don’t even ask."

"No need to hit me, idiot _jare_ , argh!" Jagger glared at him only as long as he could, which wasn't much. The man's innate sense of humor almost always overcame him before too many minutes slid by and then he was playing again. There was a time it'd proved unnerving to Torian. But Jagger had a way of edging past such emotional hurdles, until you finally played along with him. Which, now that he thought about, was a bit unnerving, too.

Regardless, Jagger's face split into a wide grin as he suddenly exclaimed, "Remember the game those girls on Eriadu used to play with flower petals? I bet you, Torian, that Cryssix' bloom stopped on 'I love him'. Real credits, mind you."

Torian chuckled, "Wouldn't it be 'He loves me'?"

Jagger guffawed, "Why make it overly obvious, come on!" Torian shook his head as they both quaffed another long gulp from their respective mugs. Jagger looked ready to start singing something designed more than anything to antagonize the soldiers in the cantina. So Torian felt suddenly gratified he'd turned Jagger so neatly from questions regarding his motivation, here. Although the side glance he suddenly tossed him assured Torian that Jagger was well aware of the diversion. "There's irony, I suppose. The Jedi seek to unleash a guild of hunters on a hunter who took down one of their own. And they call it _justice_." He sneered there at the end.

Torian shrugged, "The Jedi seeks his own _skira_. Perhaps he cared that much for the Jedi master Kas defeated. It doesn’t change anything."

"If they kill you, Torian, he wins his _skira_ against her. Cryssix says they're worthy opponents, these GenoHaradan. And I've watched your woman, too. Your death would break her like nothing else."

Torian only shook his head, though. "They don't seek my death. They want hers. And they'll win neither, not when they're lost in the false belief they control the trap." He looked away again, watching the Imperials as they stood up and began gathering their equipment together. A few of the men twisted their shoulders around as they yanked on various combat vests and belts, and he pondered the scarlet insignias emblazoned against their arms. He idly considered the bullheadedness that was common to Imperials, so they determinedly rushed at their goals.

Kastiel's brother was looking; that’s what Mako told them. Khyriel was hunting for her. But Kas only shrugged as they considered his intentions, laughing, "If I can’t take advantage of the best bounty I’ve ever seen before, because it’s made against my own head, my brother certainly can’t, either. But he’s smarter than any hunter who might try to win such a prize, too. It’ll be a fun race to watch, at least." Gault actually cheered at her, declaring he’d said the same thing more than a few times. As if _that_ was a huge comfort, Torian grumbled.

Torian knew Khyriel Phyre was a prime example of the very best, most skilled sort of Imperial opponent. He was tenacious, quick, and keenly intelligent. Gault told him, once, " _The man's fucking fast! By the time you figure out he's there, you've got no less than three mortal wounds. Probably in your back. He's not given to fighting fairly, or face to face, even. And he prefers blades. Very very_ sharp _blades_." No, if Khyriel was hunting for his sister, he would find her. Torian only wasn’t so certain of his motivations as Kastiel was.

Jagger laughed suddenly, "No need to keep watch over the soldiers, Torian. They're running for the doors, heh." Torian grinned as he watched the last burly soldier shooting a dirty look Jagger's way right before he ducked past the doorway of the cantina. Jagger tossed his empty mug down onto the table top as he leaned across the table, "Finally! Now spit it out, _jare_. Where do you think these GenoHaradan will come looking for making you their bait?"

Torian’s mouth twisted, “Gaibriel told me the Republic locked away a group of Mandalorians nearby. Didn’t you hear?”

* * *

The Clan Varad fighter retched pitifully onto the stone tiles of the floor. Torian eased down onto one knee next to him and wiped the droplets of moisture that slid down from the clumped tendrils of the his hair from off his face, drying his features the best he was able. Torian glanced at the console nearby the machine where they’d confined the man, eyeing the blinking figures that spelled out his name.

The Mandalorian was called Lavis – Lavis Varad. Lavis chose that moment to try yanking his shoulder loose from Torian’s shallow hold, blinking his eyes furiously to try and see who it was he only barely sensed was that close. Lavis sneered bleerily towards the floor, sneezing the last bits of mucous from his rioting sinuses as he coughed out, "Don't touch me, _aruetii_! I'll tear you apart!"

Torian grunted down towards the man's bent head over his pathetic position on all fours, there on the cold stone floor, "I’m not worried you'll be doing much harm to anyone when your working systems are that slow and tired. Can you even _see_ correctly, mando?"

Lavis blinked rapidly when he heard the Mando’a words. He tried looking up towards Torian's face, grunting hard, "Don’t doubt my ability! Even half-blind I’ll take you down!"

"Yea, and I believe you, too." Torian helped pull him back to his feet, watching carefully as the younger man wobbled there for several long moments. But Lavis stayed standing on both feet, slowly regaining his balance.

Torian glanced towards the entrance of the cell block, where two more Mandalorians were leaning in weary heaps against the wall. They both glared back at him. He knew they were engineers, because Gaibriel told him it was only the Varad engineers theyc managed to capture when the clan failed to capture a Republic warship, said: “It wasn’t far from Port Nowhere at the time, actually. Idiot group of Mandalorians, if you ask me. Stupid of them to think the Republic wouldn’t lower itself to pay those of us hunkered on Nowhere tidy-assed sums to clear them off the ship.” Stupid or not, though. No one of the Varad clan might be confused for weak-willed or cowards. More like vicious. And maybe more than a half-bit wild.

Even Mandalore turned his back on them, when their stubbornness for violence proved more true than even their bravery. And then the Republic put out a call to muzzle their bitter rampaging. Muzzle them, indeed … Torian smiled sardonically to himself. Mako told them of every rumor and whisper about Kastiel’s little brothers, so it wasn’t long before they knew Gaibriel was being called a Hound. They were saying Gaib was tenacious, that he didn’t give up when it came to winning his prize. Whether it was a cargo or a particularly difficult person who needed taking down or apart, either.

Torian thought Lavis Varad and his engineer friends were luckier than not it was Gaibriel who came hunting them, actually. The Empire would’ve killed them outright.

Now Lavis regained his equilibrium quickly, even if he did continue blinking fuzzily at Torian. Torian only waited patiently. He knew Lavis and the other Varad fighters who were imprisoned in stasis were keenly determined. They always had to be. Varad never allowed the clan’s members to be slow or ponderous; their _alor_ turned the ones he judged too weak into tools to be used. Or worse, examples the others easily destroyed.

So Lavis had to prove he was strong enough, just surviving so long with the name Varad behind his own. Neither the Republic or Imperial forces who fought him were greater challenges than his own clan’s leader. Well, until he met Kastiel’s brother, Torian pondered amusedly.

Lavis suddenly blurted with obvious curiosity, "Wait … You're Mandalorian? I thought the clans abandoned us to our fates."

Torian shrugged, "What did you expect? You became targets for both the Republic and the Empire, too. You stole their ships, attacked their colonies, and then their people. Clan Varad became a threat to everyone; so it proved Mandalore right! You really were nothing more than 'rancors foaming at the mouth' … like he called you." Torian ignored Lavis' dark-eyed glare, then. He simply thrust a cheap chestplate against Lavis’ over-slender frame, so that Lavis stumbled backward slightly a step before he huffed and grabbed against the edge of the armor to keep from falling over entirely. Torian pursed his lips, "But I have my own reasons for loosing you today."

Lavis blinked at him. His black eyes still watered, but he frowned thoughtfully at the bleary shape of Torian in the direction of his gaze, "You’re not here for us, then. But to use us for your own design. What’s in it for you?"

"I need someone’s attention,” Torian explained. He slowly bent one shoulder upwards, “It’s only better if they find me out here, thinking I’m trying to break you loose only because you’re _Mando’ad_. And where I have room enough to put up a fight that fool’s them just that much."

Lavis frowned thoughtfully, his eyes squinting as he fought to regain his flagging eyesight that much faster. He mumbled, "You’re trying to spring a trap. On who?"

But Torian shook his head, "I’m not _springing_ any trap." He was intent and moved quickly to prepare all three of the men. He tossed equipment towards each of them, some weapons and small pieces of minor armor. Just enough to get them on their way. Because it was only better to have them moving before the GenoHaradan came too close.

The GenoHaradan. He had thought the group was a myth, some lie the Republic had its own hunters and assassins that they hid from out of sight. Until Jagger told him they were trying to turn him into a damned bit of bait that would break his own _riduur_. But it did not surprise him the GenoHaradan refused to face her directly. Like every servant of the Republic, they were cowards. He didn’t count Gaibriel, who shared Kastiel’s blood. Gaib was close enough to be called a Mandalorian, if only he’d _choose_ better.

Lavis Varad grunted, raising his chin as he climbed to his feet and approached his fellow engineers. He gestured sideways towards his own _vod_ , asking Torian, "Varad's been broken into pieces, hasn't it? Are we the last?"

Torian frowned at him, "There were others. They’re making a new place for themselves among the clans that will take them in. They’re seeking to regain their honor. You _can_ do the same."

The younger warrior slumped against the wall, still wiping his eyes. But he didn’t stop moving, either. Lavis yanked the chestplate Torian gave him into place across his torso, "So we’re left to rot among the lower rungs of some clan's fighters?" He snorted with disgust.

Torian shrugged, “I truly don’t care if you decide to stay here. You could be a pretty and frozen popsicle for the Republic to gloat over for years to come. Maybe they’ll eventually forget you, and just leave you here to rot.” Lavis scowled then. Torian smiled tightly, though, “Or you could show better. Make your name something to be proud of again. I did."

Lavis snapped his black-eyed gaze towards Torian, appraising him seriously now that his eyesight was clearing. Torian's armor stretched across his chest, all painted with standard browns. Except for a wash of gleaming yellow and gold in neat, thick lines along the edges and down the front of his thighs. All of it was signs of the _skira_ he determinedly fought to win for Kastiel.

Lavis grunted from curiosity, "What clan calls you by name?"

"I fight for the Mandalore's own Champion, his _ad_. My _riduur_. But I'm called Cadera," Torian declared, unabashed. He ignored the sneering glance from one of the other Mandalorians, too. Maybe they were disgusted over the blood he shared with Jicoln. But it was just as likely they despised his loyalty to Artus Lok.

Clan Varad offered little to no respect for Mandalore the Vindicated. They said he was weak, or that he was just some puppet of the Empire’s. But Lavis remained quiet as he watched Torian's brisk movements, the way he hefted his staff up close against his body and pulled up his packs to more securely tie them tightly to his back. Torian was no stripling boy; he was no youngster looking to prove something to them.

Lavis didn’t care what anyone told him about the Mandalore. He knew Artus chose the warriors he gathered around him with incredible care. And he could tell it was Artus Lok who crafted the armor Torian was wearing. It was styled precisely as the Mandalore was known for, anyway. So he decided that Torian Cadera shouldn’t be judged too quickly.

Lavis remarked, sounding amused, "Some of us have dozed here too long, it seems. I for one am grateful enough to call you _vod_. Whatever your reasons, that's what you are, anyway." Lavis pulled away from the tugging grip against his arm one of the other Varad engineers gave him, and even the hard glare they sent his way. Lavis was more focused on winning his own future right then. "You'll be moving in a different direction from us. Where should we go?"

And he smiled slowly as Torian explained what he needed the trio of Varad men to do.

* * *

Torian didn't swipe the blood away from his chin. He just left it to drip slowly against the corner of his mouth.

It was better that way, if only because it encouraged the enemies who were crouched nearby. He could just barely sense them carefully easing closer to confront him. And he wanted them to believe he was that ineffectual that he could be taken down or beaten that easily.

It was a purposeful illusion that he was crafting. A determined design, so that Lavis went sprinting off after he yelled terribly loud insults and then smashed his fist against Torian's mouth. The other Varad warriors followed him after sneering several more snarling growls in Torian’s direction. They seemingly abandoned him there in the wilds and far from the Imperial base.

They left him alone and supposedly betrayed. Because the GenoHaradan thought they were typical Mandalorian savages, that they’d just turn on each other. Of course, that’s what Torian _wanted_ them to think.

Torian smiled just softly and to himself, as he considered the last time he tried creating an illusion to fool an enemy. His own father, no less. The way Jicoln looked when he stumbled backwards from Torian after he burst up at him in attack was a precious memory. These Republic assassins pompously who believed they were so much better than the ones they were hunting – well … they were so much more senseless than Jicoln had ever been.

For now, he waited. And only listened to their foolish approach, as they continued to expose themselves. It was the steady thrum that was their personal energy, the slow tread of their feet against the dry grass, and even some small crinkles of leaves as they pushed past. He listened to them breathing … one of them was huffing, anyway.

But Torian just stayed, just patient and steady as he always was. Never mind Jagger’s regular complaints on his character, either. " _Someday, Torian. I'll watch you just plain lose it. Because there's no way any sane human can remain so completely in calm control every damn moment_." Jagger said it so regularly, his bright green eyes dancing every time, that Torian barely said much anymore. Maybe he laughed at times, perhaps. But he always understood like Jagger did, that every warrior had some incentive worth losing control. Something he couldn’t _stand_ the thought of losing.

Jicoln found what could break Torian during the hunt on Taris.

Torian would not allow anyone to threaten his one single, precious female. Just the chance they could hurt her made him descend into the most animal level of response any human could endure.

Actually, it left him wondering over the chance of someone … anyone ever being more precious to him than Kastiel. Maybe, he thought. If it were her children. Torian’s head tilted as he breathed in, and then out again. Imagining the sons he would make with Kas. Then he considered a girl child like her mother, fiercely brave just like his Kastiel.

Torian sighed softly, slowly inhaling as he mentally shook himself. Today, he had to show Kastiel. She had to know her own strength and ability. So that’s what he’d show her, that no matter how hard the fight was … she would win! She was so much stronger than her enemies.

There was a brief rustle of fabric, there behind him. Torian raised up a single hand, rubbing along the line of his jaw where he could feel the bruise Lavis made on his chin. He glanced in the direction the three Varad engineers had gone, just ignoring the impending attack behind him for a brief moment.

Lavis was looking for a spot in Ordo's ranks. It’s why he was moving so quickly to reach Jagger. Well, before Jagger left Belsavis at least. He asked Torian for the chance, just before heading off and utterly ignoring the derogatory comments from the other two warriors. Torian assured him the favor would win him a spot among Corridan’s troops. That would have to be enough, because Lavis would be on his own after that. He had a tough way towards proving himself, Torian thought.

Torian lowered his head just enough to spit towards the ground as he tried to rid his mouth of the bloodied phlegm rimming his teeth. He hid his smile when he heard a low growl come from the oncoming attacker behind him, thought, "At last."

The sound was purely human. And it was male, a threatening and mean rumble of sound. It seemed to loose a rush of motion as the man came at him and broke Torian free to act. He swung his arm up, raising his staff in a vicious, terrible arc of motion as he swung around to meet the man's bull-rush.

The movement was blindingly fast, a blur in the air, and hard enough that Torian's staff impacted against the side of the man's head in a thrilling thwap that actually echoed through the brief clearing. It seemed nearly hollow a sound, except there was a meaty-sounding thump attached to it when the man’s skull caved under the pressure of the blow.

The man stopped, frozen, his blue eyes a brilliant glaze in the middle of his face - wide, shocked eyes. Then the blood from his broken skull reached some tender part of his brain. His gaze dimmed then, just went cold and silent against the pallor of his skin. Then his body slowly folded into a tired heap on the ground.

But Torian was already moving. He yelled out as he leaped across the still form of the dead man at his feet, rushing across the clearing towards the yawning wide trunk of one of the huge trees that circled the small clearing. Another one of the GenoHaradan rose up to meet him, blades flashing in the bright afternoon light. This one was a yellow-skinned twi'lek, who raised up two long-handled daggers. A rough shout rang out from somewhere to Torian's left. It was another man yelling out with resolute authority, "Don't kill him, damn it! We need him in one piece!"

It was enough, just enough to give the twi'lek some pause as he glanced – only barely – towards the speaker. That proved a lethal mistake.

The twi’lek tried fighting the inevitable. He twisted one of his daggers down to catch against Torian’s swinging staff. It made a clinking sound and flung Torian sideways for a small moment. But it also distracted him from Torian’s own dagger, which he was already swinging around with his other hand even as he bent backwards from the twi’lek’s weapon. Torian's serrated blade slid simply and even smoothly into the twi’lek’s side, just under his arm pit. It slipped through his skin and muscle until it pierced and tore his lung.

The twi'lek yelped out a gurgling cry of pain, which ended up spotting his lips with deeply dark red blood. Torian heard another angry yell, someone shouting, "Fuck this, he's killing all of us! Take him the hells down, Chask! Now, or I will!" Torian jerked his head around, glaring angrily at the new antagonist as he spun hard.

He pulled the dying twi'lek along in front of him and yanked his dagger free of the man’s body. There was a loud squelching sound burst out and the twi'lek groaned out a loud, agonized moan of distress. Then Torian raised a single booted foot, pushing his foot into the soft pillow of the twi’lek’s stomach to thrust him, hard, in the direction of the goading GenoHaradan assassin.

The twi'lek cried out again, his head flung back as even more blood burst out from his mouth. He flew backwards, his hands wind-milling through the air until he crashed solidly into the other man - a human – and then the pair of them tumbled down into a pathetic-looking pile on the cold ground.

The human grunted and groaned as he clawed and pushed against the heavy weight of the dying, unconscious twi'lek. Brilliantly angry curses were spewing from him as he looked up from where he was pinned under the fallen twi’lek, meeting into Torian's golden, glittering gaze. He paled, and panicked, shrieking shrilly, "Shit, shit! Chask! Chask, damn it! Get him! Before he kriffing kills me! Chask! Gods, Chask, help me!"

"Shut up, you clumsy ass. 'Fore you bring every hutt-spawn criminal around us to come looking, huh?"

Torian turned his head slowly, eyeing the one called Chask as he stepped firmly into the clearing. He was human, of course. Pale hair hung long against the back of the man's head but was cut short along the sides. It made his eyes seem absurdly bigger in his face, so that the pale blue color leaped out to capture your attention.

Torian smiled coldly towards him, watching as his eyes narrowed speculatively. More discerning than his fellows, so that he was less inclined to rush headlong into confrontation. It wouldn't help, Torian thought.

This, then, was the leader of these pitiful _shebs_ , the one who believed himself capable of making a real fight against a Mandalorian champion. But Torian had already tricked the man. He had drawn him into sacrificing two of his best fighters and exposed him for the ineffectual idiot he was all along. Only a little more and the show would be complete, the fool utterly made. Chask needed to walk away from this clearing believing himself capable of winning, that he could beat Kastiel.

That's why Torian's foot slipped as he turned to meet Chask's charge, so that he was off balance when the man's staff swung down against his side and pinged loudly with a static charge. That's why Torian let out a wild yell of pain as the electricity sizzled along his nerve endings, why he ignored the memory of Korwis' voice from his earliest years, the terrible advice: " _Never let an enemy know it hurts you. You meet pain with defiance, spit it back in their face. Show them your strength, always, and they may back off from the fight entirely_." It’s why he went down to his knees and huddled there, gasping, as Chask whooped a triumphant cry and slapped a collar into place around Torian’s neck.

"He killed Murk, gods! Sliced him up! And Dahvis, too. His kriffing head's bashed in!" The other human – the one he’d already beaten – that fellow was cursing and rumbling loudly as he thrashed his way out from underneath the dead twi’lek. He lashed out, sending a boot solidly against Torian's aching side, right where the electricity burns were still brightly hot. Torian grunted low, shooting the man a smoothly dangerous glare as he bent against the pain.

But Torian stayed very still, just bending over even more when the man kicked him again. He grinned tightly when the second blow landed futilely against the armor plate covering his belly. It left the idiot wincing in pained surprise when his toe cracked loudly against the hard metal.

Chask yanked his man backwards, "Stop it! I'm not interested in lugging an unconscious sack of shit all the way to the blasted landing pad. If he lays you flat, I'm leaving you here." Chask shot Torian a sturdy look of warning, "You, though? I'll drag you along because you're worth it. But I'll leave pieces of you all along the way. You understand me?"

Torian snorted disdainfully, before turning his head down towards the ground as if embarrassed over his defeat. He ignored both of the men as they went about gathering together their equipment. They left the two dead men where they were sprawled out on the ground, like they were nothing but worthless trash.

Torian only waited and thought about Kastiel. She'd be _afraid_. Torian's gut went hard and tight as he imagined it all over again. Torian didn’t doubt her for a single moment, but she doubted _herself_. He was determined to finally show her she was wrong. But he knew the effort alone would be hard and cruel. And she would be afraid. She would be afraid of losing him. Someone she loved.

Chask yanked Torian to his feet suddenly. He pulled on Torian’s bound arms, directing roughly toward the Republic outpost in the long distance. The other GenoHaradan gripped Torian's packs and weapons, lugging the things along as they moved. Torian shot him an amused glance, so that the fellow grit his teeth from the angry determination to strike him again.

Then Torian stepped out behind Chask. He followed him like he was beaten. Because he wanted to see his _riduur_ learn the truth of herself when _she_ bloodied these worthless fools. It’s the only single reason he stopped from breaking them apart the way he was wanted to, not too soon at least.

Chask walked briskly enough. The other one delighted in randomly sparking the collar still gripping Torian's neck. The stupid _sheb_ , he thought.

They never even caught him smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clan Varad is the main antagonist of the Flashpoint called "Mandalorian Raiders". The clan had already developed a reputation for aggression and violence among Mandalorians when they went rogue, capturing a Republic warship they used to attack planets of both the Republic and the Empire. Their chieftan, Mavrix Varad, is the final boss villain of the flashpoint. 
> 
> Because both Republic and Imperial faction players can participate in the flashpoint, it remains unclear who really claims victory over Varad. For my own story, here, I went with the idea that Varad was taken down by the Republic, owing to the presence on Belsavis of captured Varad engineers.
> 
> The Engineers represent the "lightside vs. darkside" option players can choose as they complete the flashpoint. If the players choose darkside, the engineers are flushed out into open space and killed outright. Only a lightside option has them captured in place. Which gives you an idea of Gaibriel’s alignment, at least.
> 
> And some Mandalorian words, here:  
> Di'kut - idiot, useless individual, jerk or moron, depending on context. Literally, "Someone who forgets to put their pants on."   
> Ne'tra Gal - Mandalorian black ale.  
> Demagolka - Someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster or boogeyman, a war criminal. From the notorious Mandalorian scientist, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche.  
> Vod - brother, sister, or comrade.  
> Cyar'tomade - Fans, supporters, or allies.  
> N'eparavu Takisit - Sorry. Literally, "I eat my insult."  
> Jare - Kamikaze. Someone who takes a fatal, foolish risk.  
> Aruetii - Foreigner, outsider, or exile. Depends on the context.  
> Sheb - A Mandalorian curse word that refers to buttocks. Literally, "An ass."


	91. Closer than Ever

He caught the small fingers edging along the line of his belt. He gripped the tiny, leather-covered hand firmly inside of his own so that he could lift the small creature high up into the air. Until he was staring straight past the cowled lining of its hood. The thing squealed loudly, a whistle of sound that ringed out across the closed-in hangar where the Blade was docked.

It started yelling in the shrillest Jawaese he'd ever been unfortunate enough to listen to, "Blizz in the air, in the air! Bad man! Bad! Put Blizz _down_!" Khyriel’s eyebrow quirked as the small creature began kicking its small, booted feet in wild circles of motion through the air.

He was amused just watching Blizz going at it. Khyriel actually smiled. Blizz seemed to become even more anxiously determined then, like the smiling expression on Khy’s face fired his angry agitation even higher. It wasn’t like Blizz could beat the agent in a direct physical confrontation, anyway. So Blizz only flailed more, yipping wildly and kicking straight out with his little legs. The very pointed edge of its toed boot smacked Khyriel solidly against his mouth, suddenly.

Khyriel grunted when his lower lip split and his mouth filled with a spurt of blood. But he still maintained his hold on the crazed rodent, lowering Blizz safely to the ground so that he could glare down at him. He leaned over only slightly, just enough to spit his mouth free of blood. Blizz was smirking up at him, Khy knew. And never mind that he couldn’t see past the dirty-looking hood to find the little monster’s face.

Blizz didn’t seem intimidated by Khyriel’s angry-looking features. Blizz was too angry and upset himself, so he reared his little head backwards and glared up at the agent. He jabbed the air over his head with a stiff, pointed finger, scolding Khyriel, "Bad man! Mean! Boss says she'll punish anyone who tries to hurt Blizz, so you better be careful!" Khyriel snorted over the Jawa’s incredible gall. Of course the thing was relying upon someone’s protection. Hopefully someone _bigger_ than itself, Khyriel thought.

"Really? Should that truly give me pause, then?" Khyriel leaned back onto the heels of his sturdy boots, eyeing the Jawa with renewed amusement. He glanced over his shoulder as Vector approached, watching his friend sidle close enough to note the nuanced smells and aura from the Jawa. Khy thought the Jawa smelled rather unpleasant, actually. But he knew Vector always had his own opinions when it came to aromas. Or stinks, rather. Khyriel bit back another smile.

Vector's gaze suddenly sharpened on the small creature. Of course it would. Why would anything as much as a Jawa with slippery fingers on a planet like Belsavis be anything else but fascinating to Vector's insectoid senses?

Khyriel sighed as he studied the slight figure with new interest, trying to determine what it was Vector found worthy of in the Jawa to warrant even a second glance. He ignored the twinge of pain along the lower part of his mouth, too. That was better than retaliating against the little rat. Unless it proved necessary, of course.

Still. He could happily terrify the little thing. Khyriel smiled meanly as he leaned close enough to quite literally loom over the noxious creature, "I could perhaps test your theory and challenge your ‘boss’. If she's going to punish me, I mean. I should provide her a reasonably good justification for the action. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, heh?"

Blizz stood straighter, almost lifting up onto his tiny toes as he tried to appear so much taller than he actually was. This world was like so many others in Blizz' experience. Full of towering people, all of them frightening and terrifying. The air itself seem to be frigid and threatening, until the people seemed just as sharp and terrible as the crags ringing the green areas of the planet. It was all cold and hard and scary.

But Kastiel was the first big person hew in the cold world outside his home place who went to a knee, just to Blizz could see her face when they spoke. On equal footing, every time. It was fun, too, when she made the other big, mean people run away from her so often. Like a pack of terrified womp rats in front of a stomping ronto. She always made him feel … safe. She shielded him. Blizz liked Kastiel.

So Blizz fearlessly tossed back his shoulders as he faced down her brother, and he chittered angrily, "She's stronger than you! Boss killed bigger, much badder guys!" Then a splash of light caught his eye again, and Blizz squinted towards the metal-lined pouch on Khyriel’s belt again. His attention was so neatly diverted he almost seemed to forget he was supposed to be angry. Blizz actually twisted his body sideways to better view the pouch, pointing, "Boss has one of those but not so pretty. Want to see how you make it look pretty! Trade, maybe. Trade, yes?"

Vector murmured suddenly, "We were told the hunter we were looking for had some experience with medicinal knowledge. But such tools – if this beast is correct, and she utilizes such devices - would indicate her actual skillset exceeds the information that has been made available. An oversight, agent?"

Khyriel raised himself back to his full height, turning his head slowly until he was able to regard Vector with a dry expression the Killik recognized very well. Despite how rarely Khyriel turned it in his direction, even. Vector frowned as he considered how he might have angered Khyriel. The people he encountered sometimes responded in ways he could not relate to, not anymore.

So that he stopped at times to think for reasons they reacted so much opposite his understanding. Vector disliked the confusion of such experiences, actually.

At least Khyriel was friend enough to not keep him floundering. Khy just frowned roughly, "Do you mean to tell me she's here, on Belsavis, and you knew it? You didn't believe I might like to know that?" Khyriel spoke in the slow, measured cadence he used when he grappled with more dark emotions. Vector sighed.

"Since I only just became aware of it, I am not certain why you are upset. It isn't that I withheld the information, mind you." The Killik turned black, saturated eyes towards the Jawa, not blinking as he regarded Blizz, gesturing softly, "Her scent is on him, actually. It’s faint. I'd say days-old, maybe a week or two. He resides in her living space, I believe. She enjoys certain spices, you see. It’s a very distinctive scent."

Blizz chirped amused sounds, "Boss is fighter people, the ones who wear hard metal all the time. Their food is hot, like home place." He pointed at Khyriel again, imperious and adamant, "Boss is strong!"

Khyriel ignored Blizz as he continued to regard Vector, serious. "Her scent? How did you manage to learn her damn scent?"

Vector looked back at him for a long moment. Blizz bounced his gaze back and forth between the two men, confused. He tried reaching out for the agent's pouch again, inching his fingers closer, closer. The corners of the pouch glittered with dark metallic corners … Blizz thought the thing was nearly perfect. He could make it even prettier -- he only knew it. He almost had his fingers on the thing when Khyriel suddenly slapped his fingers away, without even looking down at him as he moved. Blizz harrumphed softly.

Vector's eyebrows raised up, "You did request I examine the scene where the slicer was killed on Dromund Kaas, agent. The one who was hanged, if you recall." Vector's lips twisted into a small smile, "I was able to discern a unique scent, then. I thought it was hers. It makes sense, does it not? That she would hang the woman?"

Khyriel sighed, "Is this where you tell me how often it is you're proved correct, Vector?"

"If you'd like me to repeat myself ... then, of course."

Khyriel lifted his hand, waving it negligently through the air as he shook his dark head, "No, no ... I'm fairly certain I don't need yet another iteration of your aptitudes. I'll make it a point to remind myself in the future, rather." Vector chuckled slowly. Khy returned his attention to the Jawa, then. He dropped down onto a knee so that he could better see the little thing's features, ignoring how rank it smelled as he leaned closer.

Blizz made a single low sound, a clicking whistle, really. Like he was surprised, maybe. Or wondering, and he slowly eased closer to the agent. Khyriel canted his head when the little Jawa slowly pointed towards Khy’s eyes, chattering, "Same eyes. Not ears, though. Boss’ ears are special. You can't have ears like Boss."

Khyriel breathed in slowly, considering everything he'd learned of Kastiel as he watched the Jawa. He had never before managed to talk to someone close to her, someone who knew her and her habits so much. Not close enough they could tell him his eyes were the same as hers. Their father's eyes, he thought. "She’s deaf, in fact. Where is she, Jawa?"

Blizz snorted, "Boss uses metal ears. She hears good – and she fights strong when her metal ears are stopped, too. You stay away!" Khyriel's dark brown eyes glimmered with amusement. He felt his mouth quirking at the corner as he regarded Blizz’ cowled features, "You're protective of her. That's rather ... adorably funny, actually."

Blizz plunked his little hands against his hips, standing as tall as he could manage before declaring, "I laugh when a big person thinks they can beat me, too. I win fights all the time!"

Khyriel murmured, biting back laughter as he addressed the proud little creature, "And _that_ I don’t even doubt, either. I would enjoy the show, even." He lifted his chin, "But first. You spoke of a trade. So we'll discuss a trade. In return for my pretty pressor generator -- and the pouch it's contained inside of, yes -- you tell me where your Boss can be found."

Blizz was quiet for a moment as he looked at Kastiel's brother-person. Mostly because of Khyriel's methodical, studied expression. The way Khy’s dark eyes glittered with interest as he knelt there on the ground in front of him. He knelt on the ground just the way Kastiel faced him every time. Khyriel was like the Boss, Blizz thought. Like they were parts of the same whole. Parts of a machine, maybe.

Like the game where the little holographic figures moved across the board, there in the common area of the Bad Boy, Blizz considered. He remembered the way Gault leaned over the checkered surface, scowling at the blinking, growling figures tumbling back and forth over the game board, " _Your Savrip just chomped on my Kor'slug! Damn it, Kas, I hate playing this game with you. Just like your brother. He plays four or five steps ahead, too. I watched him beat his rail-thin Kaliyo in less than ten moves!_ "

Kastiel only laughed, " _Poking at Kaliyo's physical attributes, Gault? What's the matter, did she lose your commlink signal?_ "

Gault held up a long-fingered red hand, stopping her. " _No way I'd let that harpy of a woman know where to find me, Kas! Bad enough your brother's probably already managed it. That one will stick a blade in me at some point, I just know it_."

Blizz had sung a confused whine towards him, " _Why Boss brother hurt Gault?_ "

Gault snorted, " _Because he'd think it funny, that's why. Like Kas did, when she shot me across the ass cheek. Basically giving me a permanent reminder to stay out of his damn way._ "

Mako draped a slender arm over the Devaronian's shoulders, chuckling, " _Does this mean your ass would have matching scars, one on each cheek?_ "

" _Oh, yea? What if I start showing them off, Mako! You girls just love a man's scarred features, right?_ "

Kastiel raised her eyebrows towards Gault, smiling with pure wickedness as she slowly rubbed her fingers together. " _Hey! The entertainment value of Quinnie attacking your bare, scarred ass is incredible … We could sell tickets! Come on, Gault!_ " They all laughed. Then Kastiel shrugged, " _But it isn’t surprising I play Dejarik the way Khyriel does. It was one of our father's favorite games. He liked it better than chess. So he taught us all how to play._ "

It was the game of dejarik Blizz was thinking of as he stood there watching Khyriel’s dark-eyed gaze. The thoughtful expression in his eyes, rather. Blizz remembered Gault’s warning, that Khyriel always thought four or five steps ahead of the match. To counter anything he thought was a threat. Blizz scowled, thinking it reminded him of the predators hiding under the sands of his homeworld.

Blizz shook his little head sharply, stepping backwards to put distance between him and the agent, muttering, "Bad trade! Not interested! No pretty bag, no!" Blizz kicked out, tumbling some dust across Khyriel's boot. It was a deliberate insult. A declaration, that Khyriel’s offer was worth only dirt, just the barest, driest dust. Not even a drop of water should be wasted on the chance, Blizz sneered.

Vector murmured something almost like laughter from where he stood just behind Khyriel's kneeling figure, watching as the small Jawa spun around and scampered quickly towards another docking bay behind the headquarters building. Khyriel eased to standing again and then moved across the ground so he could better see the other bay, catching sight of the hunter's ship. Vector gestured towards the ship, "I do believe your sister has a very loyal crew. Jawas are not known for turning down a potential trade, mind you. And certainly not so ... dramatically."

Khyriel watched the Jawa racing across the ground, rolling the sound of the word “sister” around in his head as he regarded the ship she called a Bad Boy. The thing had what looked like rust splattered over several different sections, although he could make out a slender female figure crawling out from one of the open compartments underneath the ship just as Blizz pattered closer. What dreck the ship was, Khy thought. He saw the darker-skinned little female look over in their direction before gripping Blizz tightly as she rushed back on board the ship.

Khyriel grunted as he thought how he’d consign the decrepit transport to a trash heap given the chance. But he only spoke quietly towards Vector for now, smiling lightly, "I do believe the little beast saw right through me, actually. It wouldn't have survived if it actually accepted the trade."

Vector grunted softly, "The creature passed your test. Maybe its master taught it how to judge you correctly, in fact."

Khyriel thought over that possibility, smiling. He shrugged, finally, "It doesn't matter. She's on-world, although most probably not nearby this docking facility. Have Kaliyo and Temple keep track of the rubbish heap she flies around in so regularly. Eventually, she'll return to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dejarik was a game similar to chess, that involved small holographic figures of various monsters from around the galaxy who moved across a checkered board in mock battle. An example of the game is seen in Episode IV, when Chewbacca plays against C3PO on board the Millenium Falcon. It originated as a Jedi game, in fact, but proved more widespread over time, until its origins were actually lost. It's similar to chess, although the game of chess does in fact exist within the Star Wars galaxy, as well.
> 
> A Pressor Generator was a device that relied upon creating pressor fields (basically, tiny force fields) to stop bleeding during surgical operations. It's not necessarily a standard device in a field medical kit. They required some exceptional degree of medical knowledge before using.


	92. Do As You're Told

Kastiel felt her fingers slipping, so that she slid down several feet. She scrabbled to regain her hold against the brief stone outcroppings along the cliff-side. Several small rocks tumbled past her and down, clattering against her boots and then the small ledge below her. Several stones bounced off the ledge to fall over the side, plopping into flaring sizzles in the bright, flaming orange of the lava far below.

Kas sniffed as the smell of burning rock reached her. She leaned her head low to try and catch sight of the ledge again, grumbling when she heard Skadge laugh far above her head where he was loitering. It didn't help her temper when he leaned over the side to call down towards her, "Have to wonder if the crap is really worth turning yerself into blazing goo, huh, hunter?"

Kastiel shouted back towards him, smiling tightly, "Well, there is a reason I have credits enough to keep a ship of my own in running order. The ship you're hoping to get yer fat ass on before it leaves the planet. Right, Houk?"

Skadge snarled loudly, "Could just take it from you."

"You could try, sure. Would make for more fun than picking this crap, as you call it, yea."

Skadge kept up with his absurd ranting. But Kastiel only concentrated on finding more handholds, moving slowly down towards the ledge. The lava below continued making plopping, bubbling sounds, until sweat beaded in a thick wash against the skin of her forehead. But she huffed to keep the moisture from sliding into her eyes, methodically lowering herself until her boots touched against the rocky purchase that overlooked the molten pool.

Then the brief space filled with a trilling noise from her commlink. Kastiel chuckled, smoothing her finger against the device to activate it. She lowered herself to a knee so she could reach the gelatinous goo slowly oozing from a crack in the stone wall, not even watching as Gaibriel’s holo-image took shape: "Timing, Gaib. I swear, you have the best gift with timing."

Her brother's image glittered in holographic symmetry over the link, vivid enough she could make out the twinkle of humor in his gaze. Kas waited for his normal smart-ass commentary, but only briefly. Because Gaibriel was always that quick with witticisms galore, of course. Gaib quipped on que, "Oh, I've practiced the art of popping in when you least expect it. Believe me." Gaib frowned slowly, though, as considered her surroundings. He barked at her, "Are you forked, Kas? You're on a tiny fucking rock over a huge-ass pool of lava!"

Kastiel balanced her commlink against the armor plating over her knee, leaning closer to the glistening substance eeking past the jagged crack in the stone wall, "There's enough of a quick-growth agent, here, that I can make plenty of stims to tide my crew over. And then sell some besides." Gaibriel huffed angrily as he watched Kas carefully scrape enough of the stuff off the rock to fill several vials, placing the containers carefully into the pack she used for such gatherings.

"Not a stim in existence will fix you if you tumble head-first into a pool of lava, damn it!"

Kastiel shook her head, slanting a sideways glance towards his holographic image, "Gaib, trust me when I say you don't want to sound like Skadge. Ever. You should look him up in Republic records, maybe. Just so you understand me when I say that." She muttered several more choice words about the Houk. Gaibriel crossed his arms over his chest with stubborn pugnaciousness.

"Fuck it. Just leave the Houk there on Belsavis. Hey, I left this bastard of a Houk in a cell back on Coruscant once. Boy, did he whine towards my back – it was pretty spiffy entertainment, I’m telling you.” Gaibriel shrugged then, “Look, I needed to tell you everything's all set in place – I’m just waiting for your Gault to bring them to me at this point. I already have the little Zabrack girl … Kayla’s her name.”

Then Gaibriel tossed his hands up over his head, “I didn't expect to find you balanced over molten rock, though. I figure it's purely reasonable for me to be a little bit upset now ..."

Kastiel snorted softly as Gaibriel continued to rant over the commlink at her, packing away her tools and supplies as she prepared to climb back up the rock wall to more secure footing. She maneuvered back only slightly, just enough she could look towards the top of the Cliffside to better gauge the distance she needed to scale. That’s the only reason the sparkle of the thing caught her eye just then.

"Heh," Kastiel grunted, levering herself as tall as she could in order to identify the small device. "Looks like a datacube."

Gaibriel stopped in mid-rant, his features going dreadfully serious. He dropped his arms to lean as close to his own holoterminal as possible, intent on her. Kas imagined if he was close enough he'd have already snatched her up and away from the thing. His focus on her position over the lava was nothing compared to this new worry that twisted his features. Gaib pointed at her, "Don't touch it!"

Kas grinned back at him. She wagged a finger through the air, pantomiming poking reaches towards the small, glowing cube stuck there in the side of the rock wall and halfway covered in dusky, dark soil. Gaibriel rolled his eyes dramatically over her antics, watching as Kastiel place one of her toes into a small depression. She raised herself higher up against the rock wall, closer to the cube so she could examine it with methodical precision.

She called back towards her commlink, "A datacube, like I said. Still functional."

"Sith?"

"I don't think so, no."

Gaibriel hummed at her, shaking his head. "Still ..." So he talked, his tone low as he described structures, shapes in her head and in her mind -- imaginings. Barriers, to keep out whispers, the most insidious fingers that etched their ways into the deepest parts of yourself, he said. "You need to be safe. Always safe. Kas, promise me."

And somewhere in Kastiel’s mind, something ... _clicked_.

* * *

Zale didn't pause; and he didn't stop. The flash of brilliant blue light flared against the rough stone wall, lighting the carvings there into incredibly bright relief so that he almost thought the eyes set in stalks against alien-shaped heads in the stone statues were twinkling madly at him. But he ignored the warning light and rushed forward, raising up his blaster to take aim at the red-skinned Sith he could see just ahead of him.

A fucking Sith, he snarled to himself. And a pureblooded one by the looks of it. Such creatures were rare enough that Zale himself had only once before caught sight of the species, and then only from a distance. He had heard rumors the traits were common enough among Force-users in the Empire, especially those who relied upon the darker side of that peculiar magic, in fact. But only because the original Empire was founded by people who interbred with them. Their descendants demonstrated the traits in varying degrees, and less often as each generation passed along, too.

But this one was strongly pureblood, though. His skin gleamed a deeply rich burgundy color with thick, fleshy tendrils that hung down against the curve of his chin and his eyes glittered stark red color in the dim light of the hallway. Which begged the question -- what could be so bloody important they'd send a genuine pureblood Sith down into these ancient rooms looking for it? He refused to believe any of the Imperials he battled to reach this place cared squat about Hylo, not enough to send squad after squad down here. And certainly not enough to dispatch one of their precious purebloods, here. So why?

Zale heard the Sith yelling loudly a command of some kind. The man stood up straight, pointing a red finger towards a Republic trooper who was rearing back to throw a grenade towards the oncoming Imperial soldiers. The Imperials rushed for cover, even as the Sith lifted both hands towards the trooper and his tiny squad of men and shouted angrily. Zale gaped when actual, real purple-tinged lightning arched out from the Sith's fingers. The terrible lines of painful destruction flew unerringly towards the Republic position. The trooper's body bent backwards into an awful and unnatural angle, his armor actually steaming as he strained and twisted from the agony.

Zale shouted, waving towards the group of soldiers still gathered around the flailing Trooper. But it was the trooper himself who managed to save them; the man was still burning as he spun down and around to drop down over the grenade he dropped onto the ground. Zale winced as the explosion was muffled by the man's own body, watching in horrible fascination as the soldier's armored form popped sickeningly into the air before thumping back against the ground and, finally, stopped moving.

What a waste, he thought.

Zale felt his bitter anger settle, burn deep. He barked towards the troopers gathered nearby, "The Sith can make lightning with his fucking hands! He's the greatest threat, so concentrate all your fire on him!" He narrowed his gaze on the red-skinned figure draped in dark red robes, watched as the man tossed his dark hair back from his face and glared over towards them. Zale felt a subtle shudder edging along his spine but he ignored it, glaring back at the Sith, even daring him with an imperious wave of his own hand. The Sith snarled over Zale’s outrageous gall.

But Zale knew he had nothing else, really. The troopers around him were good men, good soldiers. But they weren't any match for a man capable of spitting electricity from his mere hands! It was going to take the most obscene luck to win this confrontation, the most incredible nerve. So that's what he pulled out of his ass, there in the most desperate moment of his life. When he was all that was left, just him and a bunch of measly troopers in the craziest mess of a world he'd ever known – they were all that stood between his friend and a stalking monster of a Sith. Mere bravado, basically. Just enough, perhaps, to throw the Sith into some cocky show of force-bred, off-balanced rage.

And they pressed what small advantage it bought them. Zale even cheered lightly when the Sith caught a stray blaster bolt across his shoulder, winging him. The Sith spun on his feet and tumbled backwards onto the ground. But those damn Imperial soldiers rushed in like little worker bees, then. They surrounded him like a dreadful wall of powerful, angry determination -- a ring of blaster rifles that they raised up to keep the Republic soldiers back.

It still might have proved just enough, Zale thought later. Given the momentum, they might have pulled it off to overrun the Imperials and drive them back from the caverns. They might have managed to save their own asses, at least. Then Zale might have saved Hylo, down there in her tidy little resting place.

Maybe. If not for the attack that came from behind them.

It was sudden, sharp, and distinctly shrill. The Republic’s troopers danced and weaved in front of a filthy shiv held firmly in a meaty Houk fist while the stone visages of those strange, alien statues flared once again through the glare of bright red blaster fire. Skadge was screaming over the din, towards Zale himself, "Told you so! You're finished, Barrows! I'm gonna gut you. Right after I smash your fucking face in!" Zale watched Skadge grab against the stiff collar of a trooper's armor, jerking him backwards before he stabbed the shiv into the soft flesh of the man's lower back, hard enough the tip of the blade extended all the way through his body before emerging in gory brilliance in his lower abdomen.

Skadge laughed as he flung the man's broken form away, not even looking to watch the body collapse into a sodden heap against the tough stone of a nearby wall. Zale growled, stepping forward with determined resolution. He would fight with his bare hands if he had to, Zale swore. But Skadge suddenly yelped. The Houk hip-hopped clumsily in place and Zale stopped to stare at him, confused.

Skadge turned his meaty head to glare over his shoulder, growling roughly, "Don't you ever dare kick me in the ass again, you whore hunter!"

"If I really were a whore, you wouldn't be able to afford me. Not sure you can afford me as is, actually." The bounty hunter stepped around Skadge, her gaze set firmly on Zale. Zale wanted to scream in frustration as he watched her, knowing she was the only reason the Houk had managed to come so far. And she proved him right when she punched against Skadge's arm with the side of one of her blasters, snorting, "Damned idiot. Don't make me regret bringing you along for the ride."

Skadge pointed the long line of his dirty shiv in her direction, shouting, "Deal was I'd get to pound Zale Barrows into the ground!"

Kastiel jerked her head towards Skadge, smiling tightly, "No, I never said that. He's _my_ prize, not yours. I made that clear from the start. You break him and I'll bust you apart."

Skadge spit a huge wad of gunk onto the floor. His expression twisted into the angriest disdain as he chewed against his huge lower lip -- but he still lowered his head and shuffled his large, looming frame behind her, head down as he subsided to stand _behind_ the hunter. Zale was stunned, watching the Houk in bemusement. Zale murmured a disappointed sound, actually. He was bitter enough to want to fight Skadge right then. Then again, what the hells did it say about _her_ , if Skadge lowered himself to follow her like a whipped dog?

Who the hell was this woman?

The shuffle of robes against the stone floor sounded from behind him, and Zale spun on the heel of his boot to see the pureblood standing far, far too close. The Sith was grinning broadly towards Kastiel, "You’ve beaten them, then. And rather neatly, too, hunter. We'll finish them now." Zale cursed loudly as he realized how the Imperials had already moved to surround their small troop, with rifles raised up to compel the Republic troopers. Zale glared over at the Sith, watching the man shift his red-eyed gaze over their small compliment towards the bounty hunter, rather than acknowledge the Republic’s men.

Angry fear rippled through the troopers around him. The men clutched their rifles even tighter as they huddled closer together. But the hunter suddenly snarled at the Sith, shaking her head as she pointed at the line of Imperial soldiers, "I’m tired of arguing with the Houk, so I won't waste my time arguing with you, too, Sith. Bottom line, I'm walking out of here with Zale Barrows in tow. Do you understand me?"

The Sith ran his gaze across Zale keenly, sharply judging him, "I have no interest in your task here, hunter. I have work of my own to complete, rather. There are cells in this section which need clearing."

Zale thrilled with anxious fury, the anger coursing as he imagined the Sith yanking open the stasis chamber where Hylo was secured. He growled threateningly, "Over my dead body will you open those cells." He clenched his fists, angrily intent and determined. He would protect Hylo with his last breath if need be. With everything he had, even.

But Kastiel almost jumped lightly towards him then. Her hand flew up fast, whipping her blaster across the back of Zale's head. Pain burst in an arc of red, glaring brilliance along the base of his skull, screaming in shrill throbs across every one of his nerves. Zale dropped down, landing on all fours against the floor as he retched in dry heaves against the floor. He knew she'd placed her blow precisely and methodically. Just to silence him. He was her damn prize, after all.

He barely heard the hunter then and he only groaned in unmitigated agony as she barked over at the Sith: "I don't give a fuck what you're doing down here. It’s Barrows I’m here for." She planted herself between Zale's nearly prone form and the threat the Imperials posed, her blasters held down low against her thighs where she calmly tapped the weapons against her armor leg plates.

The Sith smiled slowly, his red eyes gleaming as he considered her, appraised her. "I've been told of you, you know. I’ve heard rumors and wondered if they were true. I’m rather pleased that for once the story-tellers didn’t scrimp. You really are impressive." He laughed lightly. Then he subtly inclined his head towards the Imperial lieutenant standing next to him and waved an open palm in the direction of the Republic troopers, "Kill them. Leave the smuggler be, though. I'll not stop the hunter from destroying you if you raise a hand to him."

Zale moaned through his gasping breaths, "No." But it didn't stop them. It didn't even make an impression. He felt the press of Kastiel's hard, armored legs against his shoulders, rather, as she stepped back into a ready stance directly in front of him, growling towards any Imperial who came close enough. But the shots rang out, the eyes of the statues high above the space flaring brightly in glaring refrain with every peal, every ring of sound, every shout and scream suddenly cut off into the most abrupt silence.

Until Zale was left utterly alone, surrounded by Imperials that stood in bloody triumph over the sprawled forms of the Republic's troopers. Only a blasted gods-damned Mandalorian bounty hunter and a half-crazed, violent Houk criminal were left between him and the cacophony of Imperial fire. Zale felt as close to despair as he'd ever endured, the ripple of darkest misery that ached through him. He wanted to cry; he wanted to yell and wail in a ball across the ground. But he only raised himself up onto both knees and he dropped his head back to stare up towards the dark corners of the roof overhead, sighing.

There was nothing left. They might as well finish it, Zale thought bitterly. But he persisted, kept breathing. He swallowed back the most terrible, burning anger held deep inside at the utter unfairness of it. That he survived when they were all killed. That he was left living even as the Imperials prepared to move against Hylo.

Zale leaned back against the balls of his feet, thinking and listening as the Sith pattered more words of respect and admiration towards the hunter before moving off and away. They left him there, on his knees. With the blood from the fallen slowly stretching out towards him along the floor. He sighed again, almost hating the bounty hunter and never mind that only her brief attentions had kept his own breath in his chest rather than splattered all over the damn floor, too.

Kastiel spun around once the Sith was far enough away, grabbing against the back of Zale's head. She gripped his hair into a rough grasp to jerk his head back so his eyes were left staring up straight into her face. Zale gasped loudly, loosing another groan as Kastiel's fingers dug into the throbbing knot against the base of his skull.

Skadge grunted, "We went through all this, just so I get to watch _you_ beat the snot out of him? This is complete nerfshit."

Zale stared up into Kastiel's dark eyes. The dark brown of her gaze burned down intently into his own, startling him. She was determined to find _something_. Then the hunter leaned closer, so close he couldn't really see anything other than those candy-brown eyes, actually. And his eyes widened as she shot the words at him. Like they were bolts from a blaster -- a serious, staccato demand. How the fuck had she figured out what he was protecting down here, anyway?

"Where is Hylo Visz?” Kastiel held up a finger when Zale opened his mouth to argue with her, “You don't have time, Barrows. Choose which one of us gets into that cell first. Cause it’s either me or the Sith, and the Sith will rip her to shreds, I promise you. So be quick."

* * *

Zale wondered what made Skadge believe he was capable of any level of stealth. Hells, the Houk didn't just walk and he certainly didn't step. No, every motion he made was a very real, very true _stomp_. Like two large hydrolic press machines that methodically pounded the ground in steady, rhythmic precision.

Kastiel's head came up as the Houk moved towards Zale, belying any notion the two men might have maintained she was sleeping. It occurred to Zale he'd never seen her stop long enough to sleep, actually. He wondered if she was capable of it, even. Stopping, that is. But she did remain sitting with her back resting against the large trunk of the colossal tree that stretched into the darkling sky above them many hundreds of feet, it looked like.

"You know, Skadge. If we waited until light, we'd be able to settle this after morning meal. Always good to fight after a good meal, don't you think?" Kas slowly rolled her shoulders as she gathered herself. But she never once dropped her eyes from watching the Houk. The humor glittering in her dark eyes caught them both. She didn’t even try to hide her mockery, even. And it hit Skadge like any single blow would, like a hard, terrible knock straight against his pride. But her confidence was solid and certain.

Because she'd expected this. Her motions as she climbed with regular nonchalance back to her feet made it clear, that she had anticipated Skadge’s move to take Barrows from her. So that everything she did was synchronized, every twist and angle of her body, every regular move she made towards her weapons. Even the fact her armor remained to cover the feminine curves of her figure, there, as she placed her feet slightly apart into a balanced position in front of the tree screamed that she was ready for Skadge’s first stomping motion.

Hells, Zale thought. She'd even picked her ground well. The surface beneath her feet was smooth and even; it was unmarked by stray stones or sticks, even if it was soggy with the flush of rain and ice from the melting caps above the rock wall off to their side. Kastiel was still going to be able to move, to jump, or dart to whatever position would prove most helpful in the upcoming confrontation. It irked Zale to watch her, to be capable of doing nothing but fucking watch her go at it.

Zale was frustrated, being so unable to act to either defend or beat the Houk his own damned self. He sighed loudly over his own ineffectuality, earning a concerted glance from Skadge. Zale glared back at him, too. What did he have to lose at this point, anyway? Zale shook his bound fists in front of his face, "Don't know what you're looking at me for, Skadge. She's got me tied up, here, while one of her damn people goes after my friend. Probably to be turned over to her fucking Mandalore, mind you."

Skadge snorted, "You being tied up only makes it easier. You won't wiggle around as much."

Kastiel picked some imaginary dirt from her finger tips, studying the lining of her gloves with dramatic seriousness, "This argument is getting old, Skadge. You're supposed to be carrying him back to the landing pad where my ship is docked. That's it." She looked over at him. Her pouty lips twisted with pretended humor, "You're smart enough to do that much, aren't you?"

Zale gaped over at her, stunned by her temerity and sheer, unmitigated gall. She looked so small, so minor in comparison to the great hulk of a Houk, anyway. Zale twisted against the Mandalorian manacles yet again, sending another clink of sound into the air. But the hard yank he gave his wrists only served to drive the iron painfully against the skin of his wrists and hands. _Beskar_ , she'd called it. Tough as shit, is what _he_ called it. Kastiel had secured the damn things into the ground with a spike, even. Damn fool of a woman! Skadge would break her in half! Her and her death wish with her, too!

But there was nothing he could do but just sit there, helplessly watching as Skadge literally melted into pure, raw fury. Kastiel only chuckled, heightening the meltdown even further. So Skadge roared like a maddened reek kept hungry for the arena, his head leaning back so he could roar aloud. Hells, his skin mottled with red splotches like a Reek’s, too. And then Skadge leaped into a heady charge, barreling towards Kastiel faster than Zale might’ve believed he could move. Skadge screamed gruffly as he rushed, his huge body storming across the ground straight at Kastiel.

Zale yelped. But Kastiel only waited. She stood lithely, carefully balanced on the balls of her feet. She waited … Until Skadge was very nearly close enough to barrel right over the top of her, in fact.

Then she jumped suddenly, slinging her legs in front of her so that she could slide along the wet, slushy soil of the Belsavis ground in front of her. She slid along the muddy ground right between Skadge's moving feet. But she did manage to wrap one of her gloved hands against the thick ankle of Skadge's boot as she moved along, bracing herself against Skadge’s momentum so that she could reach up over her shoulder to punch solidly against the back of his knee.

Zale winced as he heard a loud popping sound, as Kastiel devastated some tendon or nerve in the Skadge's knee. Skadge warbled a pitiful-sounding roar, as blazing pain sizzled out from his joint. He shuddered to a stop, trying hard to maintain a semblance of balance on the injured limb. But Kastiel easily rolled out from under his stomping feet, then. She came up in a crouch on the ground behind Skadge as he tried catching her and only managed to bash his own injured leg even harder against the ground, rather. He missed Kastiel entirely, but he tore the raw nerves of his damaged knee even further.

Skadge just toppled to the ground. Like he was a felled tree. He pathetically rolled over onto his back as he moaned loudly into the air above him. He blinked blearily up at the twinkling stars overhead, groaning.

That's when Kastiel finally leaped, spring-boarding herself from her crouched position so that she could land with a mighty, tremendous blow with both her feet into the center of Skadge's chest. Zale murmured nearly sympathetically as Skadge loosed a great "Oof!" and curled inwards from the pressure the human woman pressed onto his chest with all her weight.

Kastiel reared back, then. She raised up a single fist as she began to lecture the pitifully wounded Houk underneath her, "You have nothing to offer anyone but your sheer, brute strength. So that's all you do, is try to squash your opponents under your damned bulk." Kas rained punches against Skadge's face precisely, interspersing her comments with steady, precise pummeling into the flesh of his chin, his jaw, his temple, and his nose. "What you have to learn is simple, though. In my world, _you_ are the bug. You are the one who'll be squashed if you ever step out of the line I draw again."

Kastiel reached down to grip the edge of the cheap armor just under the quivering mass of Skadge's chin, raising his face higher until their noses very nearly bumped together. She snarled, looking straight, cold, and hard into Skadge’s beady eyes, "Do you understand me?"

Zale Barrows watched, jaw dropped, as Skadge slowly and painfully nodded, sniffling back some of the blood that streamed down over his wide chin. _She broke his jaw_ , Zale realized, wonderingly.


	93. Making Afraid

Hylo Visz came awake with a shocking gasp. Her bright blue eyes flew wide just as a single large hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Whoever held her -- with his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders and chest -- he laid his face along the line of her jaw just to hiss low against her ear, "Shhh! Quiet, damn it! You'll get us caught!" Hylo's gaze darted around as she tried discerning where she was, but every bit of light blurred into strange, watery shadows so that she couldn't make out any real shapes.

Hylo whimpered. The arms holding her contracted protectively, as if to soothe her fearful agitation. His hand slowly released her mouth as he rocked her gently, trying to calm her.

"Zale? Is that you, Zale?" She rustled her legs, felt a cold wash of air against her thighs as the wet fabric of her pants stretched over her skin. The man holding her grunted, "No. And quiet, I said. They're moving this way."

"Who are you?"

His voice was rough suddenly, "Shut. Up."

Hylo heard voices suddenly, and several brief shouts from farther away. There were clicks, and footsteps made by armored boots as soldiers moved nearby. She could hear rifles being hefted, bumping against the chestplates of fighting men and then loud orders were being yelled down a line of what sounded like marching men. Then there was a step close by, and another voice. There was a man speaking to someone else as they walked together. And Hylo could easily discern the Imperial accents in their exchange, as the military man recounted a detailed report to his superior, apparently.

"We've successfully cleared this section, my lord. Most of the prisoners held here were dangerous criminals, several crime lords, in fact. A couple of them are being hunted by the Cartel even now, in fact. No sign of the Dread Masters, here, though ..."

Hylo curled herself backwards, pressing into the muscled chest of the man behind her. She felt his arms tighten again, the warm wash of his breath against her jaw as he sighed. She realized she was sitting on his lap, and she felt the twist and pull of his leathered thighs under her buttocks as he pulled her closer to him. They waited together, there in the dark. She blinked every once in a while, trying to get her eyes to work correctly again. Hylo remembered Zale explaining the stasis process, as well as the adjustment once she'd woken. She knew her inability to see correctly was a normal side effect of long-term stasis. The darkness actually helped, soothing her eyes as she slowly recovered.

She must have dozed off at some point, until her forehead drooped over the shoulder of her companion. He woke her carefully eventually, stroking her back slowly to bring her towards awareness without unduly startling her. Hylo yawned, then whispered softly, "Are they gone?"

"Yea. We have to move quick, though. There's a ship that can get you off world."

"Yours?"

He chuckled, and her heart sped up as she finally recognized the sound of his humor spilling forward into the air. She stiffened just as he admitted, "Where I ended up would not be a good place for you, no."

"Tyresius." Hylo snarled the sound. She jerked herself hard, trying so hard to get away from him that she actually tumbled off his lap onto the hard stone surface of the floor where he was sitting and she grumbled at the shock of laying on the hard, cold floor. He sighed unhappily, "I was rather enjoying you sitting there, actually."

"Fuck you, Ty!" Hylo stumbled to her feet. She blinked her eyes quickly, desperately trying to clear her vision. She sensed him climbing to his feet behind her, and he sighed loudly. She expected him to spout off a long litany of excuses, an explanation, maybe. Some reason for him to leave her behind, abandon her like that. Left her alone, hunted, and feeling like she was stabbed.

But he didn't say anything to defend himself. He only turned to gather together whatever gear he'd brought along with him. She stood there, watching his shadowed figure bending over to pack things into a satchel of some sort. He muttered without looking at her, "It’s Gault now, actually. And we have to move fast. This whole place is quickly going to the Corellian Hells. I have to get you off-world."

Hylo snorted, as she considered the reddish blur of his shape against the darker shadows behind him. She decided her vision was improving when she realized she could make out the shape of his horns, even the one that was broken off midway up. "That's it? Not going to crack some wise-ass remarks, some snide joke to excuse how you left me out there to hang? They were going to kill me, Ty!"

He leaned his head back, rubbing against his broken horn as he looked up towards the roof of the chamber. She sensed his discomfort and his regret. But it didn't help her to know he felt sorry, either. It only made her angrier, in fact. That he had done it, regardless. He had done it _anyway_ , the son of a bitch! Gault sighed roughly, "What do you want me to say, Hylo? Tell me what words you need to hear me say, and I'll give them to you." He slung his head back around, looking down at the ground as he lifted his rifle up against his side.

She snarled, snapping her head up to glare at him as well as she was able. He marveled at the extraordinary beauty of her features - the golden gleam of her skin, the snapping blue of her eyes, the black curls of her hair against her Mirialan face. And for the millionth time he wondered how he could have ever believed for a moment the wealth he'd stolen would ever make up for losing _her_.

Then she flew at him, her fists flying out to smack and beat against him. Gault didn't stop her, and he didn't make any sort of retaliation. He only raised up his arms to shield his face and head. And he stood there as she rained strong, steady blows all along his shoulders, his chest, his arms. She yelled, railed, reviling him with the worst sorts of curses -- "You fucking Akk dog, you bare-faced kriffing hutt-spawn! I hate you! Hate you!" Gault grunted periodically, when some blow of hers landed in a particularly tender spot, and he gasped when he felt her dig her fingers hard into the soft flesh under his ribs. He found himself wishing she'd draw blood, or leave scars ... just something he could remember her by. Just a mark on his body that he could carry away with him.

Then she growled long and low, and raised up one solid booted foot, slinging her leg out to land a vicious, cruel kick to his most sensitive parts. Gault guffawed a loud cry of pain, and he actually curled into himself as he went down, hard, cupping his genitals in both hands.

Hylo stopped, staring down at the writhing form of her once-lover. She huffed out a breath as she glared with near madness down at his prone form. She just stood there, listening to him whimper in agonized distress as he rolled back and forth on the ground. She clenched her fists, waiting, and blinking every so often as she tried again and again to clear her eyesight.

Hylo grumbled finally, glancing down at him once he stopped moving around and just lay there for a while. "My sight's improved. I can see you're still as rat-faced as ever, Ty."

"Gault." He mumbled low, but she heard him.

"What the hell does that mean? You said it before."

Gault rolled backwards, laying flat on his back as he looked up at her. He sighed, "Gault Rennow. That's my name, Hylo." He winced as he pulled his legs up and started moving to stand up again, "I think you've emasculated me. I probably won't ever be able to produce offspring now. Thanks a lot."

"You fucking deserved it, you bastard devaronian," Hylo snorted again, looking around as she tried discerning their location. The cavern was familiar enough, especially the stasis bed that took up so much space along the far side of the room. She wondered off-handedly where Zale was, and why he hadn't come to wake her. What was he thinking sending Tyresius here after what he did to them both? She smirked towards her former lover, "You had to change your name, huh? I probably should've thought of that myself."

Gault grunted as he leaned over to pick up the rifle he'd dropped when Hylo started beating on him. "Yea, well, it didn't work. Spent every measly credit trying to keep one step ahead of the hunters. One of them finally cornered me on Tattooine." He straightened, looking across at her as she stood stiff and defensive apart from him. He hated that. Deserved it, yea. But he hated seeing her look like that, with her arms crossed in front of her like she was waiting for him to say or do something she needed comforting or protecting from. Like she expected him to rip whatever was left of her emotional equilibrium to shreds. "Tyresius Lokei is dead, Hylo. You understand me? He died on Tattooine, out there on the dunes. The hunter who shot him turned his body over to the Mandalorians for bounty. He's _gone_."

"Bantha shit. You ..."

Gault raised up a single hand, one finger pointed high as he gestured firmly. " _I_ am Gault Rennow. Do you understand me, Hylo? You want Gault to die, too, that's fine. Easy enough to make it happen. I certainly won't stop you, anyway."

Hylo froze. She stood there in shocked silence as she watched him, just staring at him. Her mind was flying fast, thoughts skimming along so many different lines, chances, and possibilities. Because he honestly didn't expect anything like forgiveness. Anymore than she thought herself capable of giving it. She was too raw, too wounded still. But the thought of him dead ... the thought offended her somehow. Even now, even as she felt the hateful anger burning in the pit of her stomach … No, she didn't want him dead.

She only shrugged, though. Hylo turned away as she stalked towards the doorway. She very nearly ran into the door’s edge, still fighting to regain her full sight. Except that Gault managed at the last possible second to grab her along the upper curve of her arm. He sighed as he guided her around the opening into the corridor that ran along the length of the prison complex. She followed along behind him, pausing intermittently as he scanned around corners and through doorways for the safest path out of the place.

The silence eventually became unbearable. He knew it would. Hylo was naturally curious. It made for the most adorable opportunistic streak he'd ever known in a woman, if only because she'd come up with the most interesting uses for whatever bits and pieces of information she inevitably discovered. Gods, he loved her.

Hylo muttered, "How'd you convince Zale to tell you where I was?"

Gault chuckled sharply, "Oh, no. Zale has no clue whatsoever that I'm down here. He's tripped and tied, actually." He sighed, "At least she didn't use the monkey lizard against him. There's something damn humiliating in being beaten, not by a blaster as much as a little fucking rat thing."

Hylo raised up a single eyebrow as she looked at him, looking prettier than he'd ever seen. Her hair was straight black, though. He remembered fondly the streaks of red and purple she so normally dyed into the strands. He wondered if he'd ever manage to catch sight of her with her hair all gussied up so perfectly as that ever again. Her lips quirked only barely as she asked, "You going to share the story, then, or what? Looks like we've got some time, here."

Gault smiled as he took to sauntering along, chattering happily. And Hylo walked along with him, only listening. Thinking how he always delighted her, fired her fascination, her curiosity, her ready sense of humor and pleasure. He'd changed, she could tell. He seemed more tired than she remembered, and more relaxed, more certain of his place and purpose.

She grunted, thinking how unfair it was that she wasn't able to _keep_ hating him, cute bastard that he was. But then again. She did manage the most remarkable blow straight to his balls. That helped.

* * *

Zale looked up as the figure approached the barrier that barred him inside of the cell. He frowned sourly as he considered the human man standing there, with the round circles of his hair cropped in careful patterns along his skull. Zale snorted at him, "Figures you'd be welcomed on a Sith vessel, you damned pirate."

Andronikus Revel crossed his arms over his chest, chuckling with delight, "Oh, yea, I get around. Find myself in the most interesting positions, believe me." He shrugged, though. "Heard tell the Republic's Ferryman was keeping an eye out for me, too. Always one step behind, huh?"

Zale refused to grace the question with a response. He only stared passed the pirate towards the Imperial figure behind him. That man's light-colored hair was gathered into a neat, trimmed cut, providing a stark contrast with his gray uniform. He didn't look over-happy, though. He was glaring at Revel's back, rather, "Darth Tormen wanted him dead, rather."

Revel lifted a shoulder, uncaring of Darth Tormen's desires. Tormen was an unknown, and thus someone utterly unimportant. But he loved Gaibriel like he was a little brother. And he was pretty sure he loved his own Sith, too. Just nothing like a brother. So that’s what he threw in the Imperial’s face now, reminding him, "Darth Tormen's picking sides very carefully, right? He may not wish to antagonize Lord Kallig just yet. Thanaton did that, and he’s running fast already."

"But what does Lord Kallig want with the Ferryman?"

Revel laughed aloud, then. Did the man expect him to turn around and tell him the truth, tell him that Zale Barrows was a mere gift. Just a present, some small thing he'd asked Daubrie to give him, or that she shrugged over giving him “whatever he desired” and happily enough, even. But he was hardly willing to describe the sweetness of Daubrie’s feelings with the stone-faced Imperial; he was rather possessive of the flirtations he shared with his little red-skinned Sith. Revel smirked, "I don't make it a point to bother Lord Kallig with questions like that. _Safer_ that way, if you ask me."

The Imperial actually blanched. Zale pursed his lips as he considered the pale-faced human through the shimmering force-field barrier, that such a simple statement could be so implicit with threat. He shuddered lightly, wondering at the world he'd been thrust into so suddenly, where fear was so much a part of the life of every person and every citizen. He felt the doom of it pressing in on him, especially as he watched the Imperial gulp back his fear as he looked over his shoulder towards the doors, "Yes. Well, I do hope you will ensure your Lord is aware of my cooperation in this matter."

"Have no doubt," Revel steadied a look in the officer's direction, just long enough the man went even more stiff with unctuous respect. It had proved a tough lesson to learn, actually. But Revel had become accustomed to the anxious fear and respect demanded by Sith, and by those who served them. You walked carefully when it came to one of the dark lords ... because you never knew when they'd take notice of you in that hard, painful manner they used to maintain control over their Empire. And Daubrie was one of those lords demanding respect, and earning it, too. Now Andronikus bent his shoulder upwards, "So you may go now. I’ll take him where he needs to go."

The Imperial officer went to vivid attention right before he turned to march from the room. Zale watched him go, shaking his head in bewildered amazement. Revel chuckled over his expression, explained, "They respect power. And I follow a Sith who has loads of power in that tiny, curvy little body of hers."

Zale snatched his gaze from the doorway, looking back towards the pirate with renewed fascination. "She controls you somehow, then? Sith magic, the dark sort?" Revel's eyes actually glimmered with very real amusement as he moved towards the controls for the barrier.

"If thats what you want to call it." Revel motioned towards Zale once the barrier was down, "Lucky for you, she isn't the only one I'm friends with, hmm?"

Zale was confused, "I don't understand."

"Of course not." Andronikus Revel gripped him by the arm and started to tug him from the room, murmuring as they went. "Suffice to say, Ferryman. You were good friends once with a man now fighting alongside a particularly fascinating piece of bounty hunter. And her brother? Well, he's practically family. And they want you out from the Empire."

* * *

Torian groaned as the man's fist crashed into the side of his face. The soft skin inside his cheek tore against his teeth and blood filled his mouth. The bloom of pain throbbed vividly as that side of his face swelled almost instantly. Torian didn't hesitate, though. He whipped his head around to spit the blood in his mouth towards the _shabuir_ who was too afraid to attack him until he was restrained against the arms and legs of a chair.

"Oh, you'll pay for that, you fucking animal." The cowardly piece of _shab_ calmly wiped the specks of blood and flesh that Torian spit across his face. He slowly cracked his knuckles. Torian's expression didn't change. He remained passive against the surface of the chair, almost eerily regarding every move and motion that Randel made.

He'd acted similarly the entire way to the station here on Hoth, in fact. He didnt speak to them. He didn't whimper or cry out. He certainly didn't beg. The only sounds Torian seemed inclined to make were minor groans or grunts when the blows landed or when the collar around his neck sparked hotly. Even then it was more like he was damned impatient with his attackers, than worried or even concerned by what they might do to him. If Randel didn't know better, he'd assume Torian was rather bored with the entire course of events.

But there no way any human could tolerate pain and challenge forever. Every man had a breaking point. Randel was inclined to find Torian’s, if only to make up for the deaths of his friends back on Belsavis. All it would take was a little bit of time while Chask wasn't looking, is all. Only because Chask kept whining about keeping the Mandalorian in one piece long enough to coerce the real target into place.

_Fuck that_ , Randel thought. Which was precisely why he'd decided to play with Torian today. Only because it was too damn tempting a torture to inflict. Just another needle to push under Torian's skin, so to speak. Maybe watch him break. And that would be sweet as all the Hells, too. So he leaned closer to Torian, and he watched the Mandalorian's light brown eyes narrow dangerously.

Randel thumbed over his shoulder, towards the small, thin bed situated in the corner. He grinned meanly, "Looks comfortable, don't you think? I picked this room for you to sit in very carefully, mind you. Gives you a great view. I want you to sit here, thinking about it." He smirked at Torian, his thin lips stretching into an evil line. "Just look at that bed and keep looking at it, think what it'll look like once she's here and I get to splay her over it. You get to sit right there and watch me fuck her. Just between you and me, I think she's going to love it."

Torian's face was hard, cold, like solid rock. But his eyes blazed towards Randel with fiery promise. Randel grunted a sour laugh, his breath actually puffing against Torian's granite-hard features.

But then Torian moved. Fast. He kicked forward, threw himself hard against the restraints holding his legs to the bottom of the chair. His motion was forceful, compelling the seat up and over the top of his head, so that the back edge of the chair flew with incredible strength and power into a hard, straight line right across the bridge of Randel's nose.

There was a horrendous crack of noise in the room, as the bones all along the line of Randel's face caved under the pressure of the blow. Jagged bits of bone flew into the tender tissues of his brain, killing him instantly. So fast he literally remained standing for several long moments, before finally falling backwards to land flat on his back. His corpse stared sightlessly up at the ceiling then.

Torian pushed the chair back into place. He calmly listened to the thud the chair's legs made against the floor as he dropped back down into the seat again and then he concentrated on his breathing, exercising methodically to return his breaths to their normal routine. That, and he counted the drips of blood that slowly fell down from Randel's shattered face onto the floor around his head. He'd reached two hundred and sixty-seven before the door flew open and Chask stepped inside the room.

Chask stopped, staring down at Randel's corpse bitterly. He called behind him, "Get in here and clean up this mess. Fucking Randel got too close to the Mando. Get him out of here." Chask stood there, his arms crossed over his chest as his men pulled and yanked the body out of the room. He glared towards Torian through his glittering, light-colored eyes until the door finally closed.

Torian ignored him, though. So Chask scanned Torian's frame, the way his arms and legs were belted into knotted restraints against the chair. He tried to determine how Torian managed to kill the fool, Randel. He wasn’t even wearing gloves or boots, since they’d removed most of his gear in order to secure him.

Chask eventually huffed, looking over the younger man’s bared arms and feet as he tried to understand the meaning behind the tattoo marking his forearm and wrist. He’d asked about the scarification marks on his cheeks during that first day as they trekked back across the Belsavis wilderness. But Torian never responded to any of Chask’s queries. And there was no Mandalorian myth or tradition to explain such intentional designs, either. Some Mandalorians marked themselves, some did not – but every mark was as individual as the one who wore it, was all Chask managed to learn.

It left him blind to Torian’s truths, what made him, or anything of his character and personality. Chask wouldn’t admit to the anxiety that soured his stomach every so often, not to a single one of his own men. But deep down, he knew it was there. He didn’t like not knowing what made his targets really tick. The unknown was unsettling, is all. Chask refused to give his concern real teeth.

It’s why Chask told him then, "We sent the message to her. Hopefully for you, she cares enough to come to this frozen wastebin of a world to retrieve you, hmmm? Hopefully she's crying and gnashing her teeth with worry over your sorry butt." Chask watched Torian's eyes closely enough to catch the flickering flinch in Torian’s gaze. Just before the Mandalorian dropped his head to look down at the floor.

Chask gritted his teeth as he considered. What if they were wrong about the pair? What if the woman cared nothing at all for the blonde-haired warrior? What if all their reports, all the witness accounts who'd sworn the two were virtually inseparable -- what if they were all wrong? But it was too late, he reminded himself. The plan was in motion now.

And the GenoHaradan didn't tolerate failure.

They would continue the course that had already been set. So he pointed at Torian, glaring, "You may think you're something slick, or something exceptional. But it's a fucking lie, whatever they've managed to convince you of as you went about singing your damn Mandalorian ditties. You ... are ... nothing. And I'll prove it to you before this is done." But Torian quietly raised his head to patiently stare back at Chask through calm eyes. Chask pursed his lips before finally withdrawing, flinging himself through the door with abrupt steps.

Torian slumped against the back of the chair once he was finally alone, sighing as he stared down at the floor and his bare toes shining white with cold. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the biting pain against his muscles. Then he tried turned his mind's attention towards the plans swirling through his head, tried thinking of what he'd need to do or say once Kastiel arrived, once he caught sight of her.

But all he could think about was the fear in Kastiel’s voice when she woke from a nightmare, calling for him. Whatever mocking threats they tossed at her in the message would hurt her. She would not sleep until she found him, he knew. The fear for him would keep her from any chance of rest.

So finally, the only plan Torian was able to settle on was the one that allowed him to steal Chask’s head as a prize. For being the one who’d frightened her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of Mandoa words:
> 
> Shabuir - an extreme insult; a jerk, basically, only much stronger.  
> Shab - word meaning "shit". Shabuir is probably derived from the same root.


	94. No Luck

“Kastiel. But those close to you call you Kas,” Raina Temple was mumbling to herself as her fingers twittered against the datapad. She examined its surface and all the bits of information glittering back at her. There were images, some recordings of voices and conversations, but those were rare snippets shared by the Mandalorians during their Great Hunt. They were very proud of their Champion. But not so much they openly displayed their Hunts.

Raina was disappointed at the dearth of insight. How did any one bounty hunter manage to stay so hidden, for so long, and after so many exploits? Raina huffed a small breath as she considered one recording that Imperial Intelligence acquired on Nar Shaddaa, after Kastiel killed someone called Eidolon. Even that was only a scratchy clip they managed to seize off a broadcast the Mandalorians sent back to Keldabe, too.

"… _have tried. And their heads are mounted on my wall_!"

" _I don't want your head. Don't want anything of you. I just want you to disappear. Forever. I'll make sure you're forgotten. No one will ever remember you_ …"

Kastiel spoke fluidly, with a cadence that was unmarked by any kind of accent or emphasis. There was nothing in the sound of her voice that even hinted she was born on the Imperial homeworld to one of its own and best military officers. Listening to her, you would have to believe her a simple mercenary woman. Like any other hunter or killer you used to destroy a particular problem or enemy, even.

But Raina could actually discern the shark, keen edge of Kastiel's wit and the hard, methodical whip of her determination just listening to the calm recitation she made to the man before killing him. Brutally, from all accounts. The reports Raina examined indicated she beat the Eidolon to death. With her fists alone. She didn’t even sound angry as she went about the task … Raina could actually tell she was Khyriel Phyre’s sister, just listening to her.

What was it, that made them so much alike? Was it something in the blood? Khyriel reminded Raina once that he looked like his father, like he was a mirror copy, even. He told her, “My mother insisted he did it purposefully, just to torment her. She hated to see his face and his eyes when I looked at her. So of course I looked at her often.” He laughed at the memory. If only to hide the bitter hate in his gaze whenever he thought of Karen. But Raina did remember a single moment out of time when she once caught sight of Lucian Phyre, too. She knew his son looked enough like him to be a cloned image. Except Khyriel shrugged off that much chance. He wasn’t lucky enough, Khyriel told her. But even Khy was utterly fascinated to see so much of Lucian in his bounty hunter sister.

He watched every example of her he managed to find – every recording and every report, all the pictures, and even the transmissions snatched off the holonet. He devoured everything that described her motions, her features, what she looked like and sounded like … Raina realized he was trying to piece her together into a framework he could understand, and he complained there were “parts of the picture” that were missing. Like she was a puzzle he was only excited to solve.

Raina herself worried over Kastiel’s intentions, mind you. The ease with which Kastiel contended with her enemies, as if none of them could fool her across the length of any battlefield – hells, the sheer tactical insight she brought to every single confrontation - it just frustrated Raina. Until she finally argued with Khyriel the woman was perhaps a far greater threat than any mere claimant to his wealth. What if she _blamed_ him, somehow? His mother did Kastiel so much harm, she reminded him. But Khy just bent her a twisted smile from the corner of his mouth, “ _Oh, yes. Only a real fool wouldn’t consider how much damage she could inflict, given the chance_.” Then he turned away, completely unconcerned.

Now Raina harrumphed softly, dropping the datapad down onto the low surface of a nearby crate before slicing another glance towards the heap of ship idling at the landing pad along the far edge of the hangar. She could see the wall of the caldera reaching high overhead just past the ship, and she pretended to examine the geological forms of the rocks rather than the increasing movement around the ship. The Bad Boy’s slight-figured navigator was just then pointing and directing the little Jawa through its busied motions. Mako yelled over at a pair of droids handling crates of cargo into the ship’s interior suddenly, while Blizz scurried into a pocket of the ship’s engine with a welding torch. It wasn’t so long before brilliant sparks flew out from inside the engine space where Blizz worked.

Raina gnawed her lower lip as she considered them. It appeared the crew was preparing the ship for lift-off some the surface. Only there wasn’t any sign of the Bad Boy’s commander. And there was no way they’d leave without Kastiel. Not in a heartbeat, even. Raina had watched them enough to know Kastiel’s people were almost rabidly loyal to her, as if each one of them was actually vested in her success. Oh, maybe it might've been self-interest. They were marked as much as Kastiel was, so long as the title "Most Wanted" was painted on her head.

So Kastiel’s people were probably just as valuable to the Republic, too. At the least they’d be captured. Given the right hunters and the Bad Boy’s crew wouldn’t even make it that far, though. They could be outright destroyed. But Raina watched them, and she guessed Mako and Gault and the little Jawa stayed with Kastiel for far more personal reasons.

They _cared_ for the bounty hunter, in fact. Raina wondered what Kastiel did to make such loyalty in the people who followed her.  _That_ was purely a puzzle. Not even Khyriel inspired that kind of fervent respect among the Blade’s crew, anyway. They were afraid of him, more than they cared. Although Raina wasn’t so sure about Vector’s feelings, either. His way of looking at things tended to be too alien to really understand. Funny, really, considering that Vector started out as a human …

"Well, look at this. Who woulda thought the Empire was keeping such pretty bits of flesh back here near their ships, too, huh?" Raina’s head snapped her head around to regard the small crowd of smelly, dirty looking men who’d gathered themselves into a loose circle far too close to her, suddenly.

Raina lifted her chin, the chocolate mocha of her skin flushing with distress as she lowered her hand down towards her blaster. She sniffed disdainfully as they leered at her, pretending blithe concern as they kept up with some more raunchy catcalls. But the blocky-faced human in the front of the group raised up a pointed finger, shaking it back and forth as he tsked at her over her motions towards the weapon, "Now, now. No need to be less than friendly. We only want to get to know you better. Trust me." The others laughed loudly from behind him, some of them shoving against each other to better see Raina.

_Shit_ , _shit_ , _double-damn shit_ , Raina thought. She quickly scanned the line of men. But they were jostling back and forth too fast for her to really note piddling details, other than a lot of nasty-looking teeth set between fat, drooling lips. And all of them were far too close to her, while she was too far from real assistance. Khyriel had set his ship backwards into the hangar so they could easier watch the Bad Boy. Now the Sith and their guards couldn't begin to help her, since they couldn't even see them.

But Raina gamely shrugged, ignoring the human's threatening gesture to reach down and clasp her blaster, "Go introduce yourself to the Sith instead, right outside. I hear they're looking for some new recruits. There’s nothing for you, here."

"Oh, no, darling. I'm already recruited by the Imps outside. They even gave me a shiv, and told me to make use of it. What say you we practice the sharpness of this thing against your pretty little uniform thing, there, huh?" The man ogled her figure, his black-eyed gaze sliding with oily precision up and down her frame. Raina barely prevented herself from shuddering as he licked his thick lips, his eyes locked on the up-thrust roundness of her breasts under the leathered vest Khy insisted she wear whenever she left the ship.

Raina actually took a step backwards before she could stop herself. But she kept her chin tilted upwards with pugnacious determination. Then she heard a step coming down the ramp behind her and the hard knot in her stomach lessened as she relaxed. Raina settled back onto the heels of her booted feet when Kaliyo stepped down from the ship’s ramp and snorted towards the circling throng of brutes in their dirty rags. The rattataki's sharp, discerning gaze glittered with the hardest and most bitter amusement, "Gee, Temple. You found yourself a welcoming party. Only you could be so lucky."

Raina scoffed, "They’re hardly welcome."

Kaliyo chuckled meanly, "Really? They look like they could give you a really good ... ride. Hells, a true tour of the planet even. Might want to take them up the offer, huh? You like _riding_ , I thought."

Raina stiffened, glaring over at the woman’s pale face, "This isn't the time for one of your temperamental games, Kaliyo. They're threatening the Blade, at least."

The rattataki nodded with feigned seriousness. "You’re absolutely right, Temple. We should mollify them! To keep them from threatening the ship!" She turned to the group of angrily shaking, lust-driven men and she smiled darkly, "What do you guys think? Your offer’s accepted! Show Temple how pretty Belsavis really is, and leave the ship alone. Deal?"

Raina actually stumbled in shocked surprise. She looked over at Kaliyo with suddenly wide eyes, "Kaliyo? What do you think ..? You can't ...!"

Kaliyo harrumphed, waving towards Raina without looking back at her. “Hush. You were so bummed when Nine didn’t take you out for a tour, right? Here’s your chance!” Kaliyo smirked over at her, then. Raina turned her head back to examine the milling loons in front of the ship again, fast trying to find the one of them who was the greatest threat. But she knew she would only manage to take down a few of them before they overwhelmed her. And she would never survive what they did to her afterwards.

Well, maybe Kaliyo was more bothered when Khyriel decided, than he had supposed she'd be. Yea, Raina knew Kaliyo was horribly possessive where Khyriel was concerned. That was an effect Khyriel manufactured very deliberately, anyway. But he didn't care about her so much, not really. He regarded her in better moments with playful manipulation of her more passionate expressions, rather. When Raina asked him, he said, “ _She sometimes amuses me. But she’s messy and barely able to rule her own senses, never mind her inclinations. No, she lacks order … and control_.” But Kaliyo 's feelings seemed a bit more extraordinary than Khyriel's. And Raina was a pure threat to whatever hold on him Kaliyo wanted to maintain.

Now Raina looked at Kaliyo quickly. She felt the last bit of hope she’d held onto fizzle away when she saw Kaliyo smirk back at her as the rattataki stepped onto the upper lip of the Blade’s door ramp. Kaliyo even waved meanly at her, grinning. Raina bit off the curses rising to her lips.

Kaliyo wasn’t joking. She really was going to walk away and leave her there.

“Hah! Our lucky day … You’re on your own, girlie!” The men started jostling each other, and shouting towards each other for turns. Turns! Raina gasped aloud, and she spun fast to face them, lifting her blaster loose from her belt. She glared at them, raising her arm while counting her breaths to keep from panicking.

And then another voice rose above the din. From _behind_ the pack of animalistic thugs: "Which one of these goons is lucky? I don't see any one of ‘em I’d call lucky. Do you, Kas?"

Gault Rennow. Raina recognized his voice, especially after examining so many recordings that described him over the last few weeks. She strained sideways to see him better, but she only barely caught sight of his broken horn against a red skull as he rolled his shoulders. He was carefully and deliberately showing off the rifle he clasped in his big hands, of course. Then the crowd thinned from around him hurriedly, and Raina could see them both so much better.

Raina sucked in a breath, when she saw Gault standing there with a wide grin stretching across his red-skinned face and Kastiel beside him. The bounty hunter was smoothly tapping her finger across the handle of her blaster pistol still resting on her hip as she stood there like an angry-faced stone statue. "Not considering they’re loafing between me and my own ship, nope,” Kas stated baldly. But Kastiel wasn’t looking at the men in their tattered orange tunics. She just stared across the ground towards Kaliyo instead.

Raina breathed out slowly as she finally saw Kastiel’s eyes. They were dark and richly brown, like the loam pulled up from the deepest ground, even. Her gaze right then looked so much like Khyriel’s when he was seething dangerously, actually. Except that the implants circling under her eyes actually made the orbs look more brilliant and glittering, until they almost twinkled like the darkest opals. Better than the look in her eyes, though, was that Raina could sense her through the Force, too.

_Gods, she actually feels so much like Khy_ , Raina thought dizzily. To her, Kastiel felt enough like her younger brother to be his own twin, even. Like they were connected together. And then she looked like a feminine version of the Agent, too. Complete with the darkest, inky tendrils of hair that fell down to swirl along the curve of her jaw and brush the back of her neck where her armored chestplate started. Although Raina was able to see Kastiel’s scars right there on her face, as well …

The shiv-wielding rapist tried to regain the upper hand, then. He turned his body sideways so he could look back towards Kastiel without losing sight of Raina, and he snarled loudly, "Really? You think so, huh? And who do you think you are, then?" He waved the rough, dirty blade back and forth through the hair. But Kastiel only chuckled, barely glancing at him.

"I’m the one with the blasters, obviously," Kas lifted her shoulder, signaling towards the large Houk who just then stepped up to stand behind her. Raina’s eyes widened as she took in this new figure. He was huge, and he loomed there behind Kastiel like he was a terrible wall of malevolent aggression. Kas didn’t look back at him as she shrugged, "Skadge, tell them how bad a day you're having."

Skadge lifted his large hands up and clasped them together. He began slowly, loudly cracking the knuckles of his fingers one by one. His face was mottled with bruises, along with a couple of nasty-looking lacerations. It was obvious he'd taken a serious beating recently, which only made his countenance look even rougher and more dangerous, actually. Raina gulped.

Skadge growled loudly, and then they could all see he was missing a sharp tooth right there in the front of his mouth. His already beady eyes narrowed even further, "There are bad days. And really shitty days. This has been one fucking shitty day, hunter.” Skadge shuffled one of his thick feet so that the dust on the ground drifted up into the air, “You didn’t even let me pound on Barrows one fucking time! Not one! But I’ll feel a little better if you let me mess this lot up. A lot.” He waved in the men’s direction, smiling past his broken tooth, “So keep up with pissing her off, you fuckers.”

The dirty-faced leader was looking at them through wide, scared eyes now. He swallowed hard, "Skadge? The one from the Black Sun?"

Skadge laughed roughly, "Told you I was famous, hunter."

Kastiel shrugged, “Considering who seems to think highly of you, I’m not so impressed, Skadge.” The men were edging towards the far doors of the hangar now, and Kastiel lifted a brow. She thumbed towards them, "But play for a while, Skadge. I’ve got some business, here.” Skadge blustered a loud sound of seeming satisfaction then and rushed after the men as they broke into a panicked mob and tried running away. Gault provided loud rowdy exclamations that resembled the announcements during a sporting match while Skadge went about mowing through the fleeing men like they were nothing so much as a mass of rumbling-pins falling in front of a heavy ball.

But Kastiel gave the show no more of her attention. She just went back to tapping her finger against her blaster’s handle as she started strolling towards Kaliyo, who was still stewing in frozen place on the ramp up into the agent’s ship. Kas didn’t stop until she was close enough to poke Kaliyo right in face, and then she leaned even closer to whisper towards the rattataki woman's ear.

Raina strained to hear what she said. But Skadge’s loud-mouthed calls and guffaws of laughter and the terrible screams of fear and pain from the men he was breaking apart drowned any chance for Raina to overhear what Kastiel was telling Kaliyo right then. Raina scowled, so bothered she wasn’t able to discern what the hunter was saying. But she could easily see Kaliyo’s face just above the turn of Kas’ shoulder. And there was something purely satisfying to watch Kaliyo’s face turn more and more bitterly angry.

By the time Kastiel straightened again, Kaliyo looked terrible, almost ghost-like and frozen like ice. Her lips were pulled so tight together they almost seemed to disappear against the pale grey of her skin. Then her mouth screwed up like she was going to bite out a reply, probably a nasty threat of some sort.

But Kastiel help up one finger and pointed it at her, shaking it back and forth in mid-air, "Uhn, uhn! Count yourself lucky I don’t finish it, here. And fucking cross your damned fingers he doesn’t find out." Kastiel smiled when Kaliyo actually blanched straight white. Kas glanced up the ramp towards the ship’s door behind Kaliyo, smiling, “What’s the chances of that, do you think?” Then Kastiel chuckled.

She turned on her heel to push her way back over towards her devaronian friend, shoving her shoulder into Gault’s side to stop his busy cheering of Skadge’s antics. Gault leaned over, huffing dramatically as if he’d lost all his breath. Kas ignored him, only blithely standing there to count the heaps of orange-colored tunics draping broken bones and unconscious figures on the ground all around the hangar’s doors. She hummed, watching the houk who was still stomping among some of the still-whimpering men who hadn’t managed to haul ass out the doors fast enough.

Raina watched _her_ , though, studying the lines painted onto Kastiel’s armor and wondering what they meant. Kaliyo stomped back through the doors of the ship, muttering some more threats under her breath. Where the bounty hunter couldn’t hear her, of course. Raina bit her lip to keep from laughing after her backside. But then Kastiel said something to Gault about her need of a shower and turned, preparing to step off towards the Bad Boy.

Raina couldn’t let her leave, not yet. She called towards Kastiel, "Hunter! Wait ..." Kastiel glanced back, her eyebrow raised up over one eye in a silent query. Raina actually blinked at how similar she looked at that moment to her Sith sister, as she used an expression that Lusiel used so often. The resemblance was so stunning, that Raina stammered out before she could stop, "You look ... like Lord Lusiel."

Kastiel's eyes narrowed as she regarded the small-framed human woman. Raina Temple was darker-skinned, with big, black eyes that dominated her heart-shaped face. The gear she was wearing was made from quality materials. Kas imagined her brother directed the tailoring of the armored straps stretching up and over Raina's slim shoulders. He'd want the small female kept as safe as possible as she moved behind him, obviously. Raina swallowed as she accepted Kastiel’s slow perusal, and she waited while Kastiel turned around and walked over to stand in front of Raina.

"I don't think it's my sister you're trying to figure out, though," Kastiel's head slanted sideways when Raina bit her lip to keep from nosily interrogating the bounty hunter right then and there. But Kastiel just shook her head and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest as she remembered in low tones, “My father ... when Khyriel was born, he brought the baby to meet me. He said it was important that I know him. He told me Khyriel was _his_ son, and never mind my brother's mother wasn't my own. He let me hold him, although I had to stay sitting against the cushions as they put him on my lap."

Kastiel looked away, over towards the Bad Boy. She wondered where Torian was, what he was doing. Her memories were so often cruel things that she wanted to share this good one with her husband. Let him know she'd been happy, too, when she was still little. She murmured to Raina, "He smelled sweet, like powder. I remember he yawned when he woke up and saw me. He had eyes just like mine and that’s how I knew who he was, that he was _my_ brother. That we shared blood. And then he smiled up at me." Kastiel twisted a grin towards Raina, "I was the first one he ever smiled at, my father said."

Raina nodded, "How old were you?"

Kastiel shrugged, "A little over a year. I never forget, not anything. But that's one of my earliest memories, too. And I’ve watched out for him ever since." Raina frowned at her. Only because Khyriel’s early years were marked with pain and blood. Why didn’t you stop them from hurting him, she almost demanded her.

But Mako suddenly clambered down from the Bad Boy, calling over to them. Kastiel’s head jerked around and she frowned as the cyborg yelled, “Kas! Torian’s in trouble!” Kastiel stiffened and pointed her fingers, directing her people, "Gault, get Skadge onto the Bad Boy. Move now." Raina reached out as if to grab her. But she wasn’t fast enough. Kastiel was already moving towards her ship in a near run.

Raina only managed to catch against Gault's elbow. She bit out, "Wait, what's wrong? What's happened?" Raina had studied what she could of the people who served Kastiel so loyally. And especially the blonde-haired Mandalorian who followed her so often. She had assumed that was where Torian was now, supporting her as she moved around the walls of the Belsavis prison.

The Mandalorian warrior was rumored to share her bed. So Raina prepared methodical dossiers that described him and offered the reports to Khyriel. The agent was sneeringly suspicious of the young Mando, saying Torian had garnered more for himself when he edged onto Kastiel’s crew, than he offered her. Raina hadn’t disagreed, actually. Everything she learned about Torian’s history said that his own Clan was mostly disgraced. Until Kastiel claimed him, that is.

Now Raina craned her neck to look for the man, asking Gault, "Has her lover been injured?"

Gault shook his head as he pulled his arm loose. He yelled towards Skadge to get his fat ass onto the Bad Boy, and quick. Then he grunted towards Raina, "Let's just say, if anyone's scratched a single pretty blonde hair on Torian's head, Kas'll fucking destroy them." Gault twisted a sardonic grin towards Raina, "Torian's her _husband_."

Raina only stood there watching as the Devaronian trotted away. She cursed under her breath, wondering how in the blazes she had missed such an important detail in her reports. Raina sighed, “This is going to be the icing on the cake of Khy’s lousy day.”

* * *

Mako stopped just inside the door leading into the mess. She sighed when she caught sight of Kastiel. The hunter had finally collapsed down onto the bench against the wall and now her dark head was bent over the table, as she curled into the circle of her arms and fell asleep. Mako could just make out the twinkle of the implant in Kastiel's left ear through the fall of her dark hair.

There was a soft snore in the stillness then, a long, slow breath that wheezed. Mako twisted her head around until she saw Quinnie, too. The monkey-lizard was stretched out on the bench next to Kas, his little head pressed up against the outside bend of her thigh as they both slept.

Mako did quick calculations in her head. Four hours tops that Kastiel had been sleeping, there. "Dammit," Mako breathed out quietly. The last thing she wanted to do was wake Kastiel, because the hunter needed the blasted rest. It was better for her to sleep in the damned mess than keep pacing the length of the ship, at least.

Well, she didn’t pace the entire while. Kastiel spent several hours working on her weapons and armor pieces, until the things gleamed and shined in the low yellow lights of the ship’s corridors. She also spent more time in the tiny space that made up their medical bay. Mako was fairly sure Kastiel actually catalogued every piece she packed into the medical bags she would carry into the field next time. Twice, too.

A full twenty-six hours Kastiel had worked, and the only place on the ship she stayed far away from was her own quarters. Not even Gault had been brave enough to say she should go in there and sleep. Because they all knew the only thing she’d do was lay there looking at the empty stand where Torian’s armor was typically stored.

So now Mako bit her lip.

It was better than yelling, at least. Because there was no one to yell at, either. Just some fucking image over the holoterminal. Even that one was only recorded, too. And Kastiel didn’t yell or say anything when she considered the man’s taunts and jeering commentary over the terminal. He was only a blip, a minor image and not a real enough person that she could punch or shoot him. Kastiel only pressed her lips close together and ignored Mako’s torturous worries - what had they done to Torian, then? Was he well? Alive? Or was he bruised, bleeding, broken? ... Was he _already_ dead?

But Kastiel only stood there, listening to the message over and over. She stayed so quiet and still. She only watched it. The look in Kas’ eyes was dark enough that Mako wanted to yell and shout and beat the terminal itself, if only to soothe her friend.

So Mako certainly didn’t chase after Kas, needling her with stupid concerns over her sleeping. Or even eating, really. The futility of it was obvious in every shadow of the hunter’s gaze as she watched the figure chortling his threats over the holoterminal. Gault tried, hopelessly. He sneered towards the image, “He sounds like a demented monkey-lizard. Yours has better manners, though.” Kastiel didn’t respond to him, either. She just pressed against the terminal to view the message again.

Mako did manage a solid kick against Skadge’s knee, at least. Because when the dimwitted Houk complained loudly that there was no reason to rush after a single man who’s “piddly little cock is easily replaced,” Mako just couldn’t help but haul off to kick the stupid lummox against his kneecap. They all watched the hilarious show he made wailing and weeping in pitiful pain as he hopped around holding both his lumpy hands over the wounded joint, then.

Mako only shrugged when Kastiel stopped long enough to look over at Skadge’s jumping chorus, “How was I supposed to know he was dumb enough to get his knee injured?” Eventually even the Houk hushed enough the ship settled into the night-cycle routine.

Now Mako inhaled a deep breath and stepped down into the mess. Kastiel jerked awake, of course. Her head lifted up as she blinked her eyes blearily. Mako sighed unhappily towards her, “You didn’t turn off your implants?” Kastiel's dark gaze flew unerringly to Mako there in the doorway, and she wiped her eyes before gesturing towards the little cyborg, "What is it, Mako?" Kastiel reached down to pat Quinnie when the rodent suddenly sneezed awake.

"Xayver. He's on comm," Mako said, her voice low in the stillness.

Kastiel nodded. She stood up quickly so she could stride from the mess towards the holoterminal on the other side of the open bay and roughly punched against the console. Then she leaned back on the heels of her leather-soled feet as she watched Xayver’s image take shape against the backdrop. He didn’t appear over-tired, either. But Kastiel couldn’t begin to tell if that meant he’d slept. Or if his eerie genetics made him less-prone to sleeping, period.

She could discern his displeasure, though. Xayver shoved several tendrils of his black hair behind his ear as he stared out at Kas through dark, almond-shaped eyes. His tone was bald and stark as he complained towards her, "I should have anticipated such an eventuality. This failure is not ... tolerable."

Kastiel shrugged, "Who are they?"

Xayver waved a hand through the air, still looking thoughtful. "The GenoHaradan. Not surprising they would take notice of you, hunter. Interesting, rather, that it's taken them so long to move. They're usually more provident." Kastiel only waited. She was familiar enough with X that she knew he was still formulating insights as he explained, rather. So she came directly to the most important question, "Would they have killed him already?"

Xayver maintained his serious expression. The Mandalorians that surrounded him were deeply committed to family and clan, of course. They chanted and sang of such devotions and obligations, even. The songs even woke him in the early morning hours and made up much of the rhythms of his days in the capital.

But Xayver didn’t believe Kastiel’s adopted people instilled those values in her. It was more, that the Mandalorian clans who called her their own took advantage of strengths that were already implicit in the woman. Like they discerned a core part of her deepest character and snatched her up in time enough to make it even greater.

He could nearly believe the Empire manufactured Kastiel’s fervent protectiveness, especially since it seemed to be shared between each one of her siblings, as well. But the Empire would never hold up the production of such constant, unceasing loyalty or steadfast care as Xayver watched happen between Kastiel and her brothers and sisters. No, it had to be something else that formed it in them. And when they were young enough none of them even understood it was happening, even.

So Xayver shook his head abruptly, "They might have hurt him. Likely so if he fought them hard enough. But no. They wouldn’t break him too much before you reach them. Watching them finish him off could break you, in fact. And you are the one they want off balance. _You_ are their real target – the Republic’s Most Wanted, and now the GenoHaradan’s obviously."

Kastiel compressed her lips together, “And the one who made the threat? The one holding my _riduur_? Is he important? A leader among the GenoHaradan, maybe?”

"Not hardly, no." Xayver actually smirked at the mere chance, "The GenoHaradan overseers remain out of sight, always. They don't even tell _each other_ their names, let alone expose themselves to outsiders." Kastiel turned her head, and she pursed her lips even tighter. She crossed her arms over her chest as she thought, contemplating.

She just remembered them, all the ones she’d lost and then Braden, too. The way he pulled her off the corpse of the first man she killed, " _Kas! Kas, damn it! You did it, see? No, stop now! It's good enough, damn it! He won't be able to hurt him again!_ " Because she had to kill a man to keep Khyriel safe. She kept Khyriel safe and walked away from the chance she would find her Mandalorian. Then Braden won back her own chance, and he died in the doing of it.

Now they would try to take Torian from her all over again. Damn them to all the Hells.

Xayver narrowed his black eyes as he watched her. He clenched his jaw, until the words fell from his lips like the sharpest daggers, "They stole something that belongs to you, Kastiel Cadera. You’ll need to get it back from them." Kastiel's chin went up, her eyes shining sable in the low light of the bay.

She swore, "They’ll bleed for it."


	95. My Own Offended Honor

Malavai Quinn sneezed. Rather delicately, actually. He certainly wasn't inclined to display any sort of obnoxious noise into the bustling space of the Imperial headquarters, not when every one of the low soldiers and Imperial adherents nearby might chance to observe him. Appearances were vital things, he believed. The minor inconvenience of a cold, with all its foul, messy symptoms, was as embarrassing as it was uncomfortable.

His irritation was not improved by the sniveling excuses from the brief ensign who kept trying to wheedle any kind of acceptance from him, either. Quinn balefully eyed the human's skinny frame, idly wondering how he managed to keep himself alive on such a frigid world as Hoth. Considering the total lack of any sort of fat that would cushion his bones from the cold, anyway.

And the fellow's cajoling whine actually hurt his ears, Quinn thought. Or maybe he was developing an infection of his ear canal. Either way, Quinn very nearly snarled against the little man's pitiful ramblings, "Enough. Simply transport the requisite barrels of kolto to the docking bay. We require our medical bay's kolto tank to be resupplied, and quickly."

"But captain, that's what I was hoping you'd understand. We had a shipment of kolto earlier today, yes. But it's already requisitioned to be delivered to a very eager Major, who’s stationed on the outer shelf near the Graveyard. He's hoping to bribe some of the pirate troops in that area into attacking the Republic forces, there." The skinny little ensign looked away from Quinn nervously, rubbing his thin hands together. Quinn noticed his fingers were white with cold and strain. Quinn breathed in slowly, just to keep the mucous he could feel gathering inside his nose from leaking. Damn cold, he thought.

"Are you telling me seriously that the supplies of kolto you have on hand will be given over to mere _pirates_ , rather than used to benefit the missions of a Sith Lord on board her ship?" Quinn smiled thinly at the man, "Would you like to explain that to her directly, then?"

The ensign gulped loudly, and Quinn watched the pronounced lump in the center of his thin throat flex with agitation. He raised a brow at the soldier, who finally gasped out, "No ... I'd rather avoid meeting a Sith directly, sir. Ever, actually." The ensign cleared his throat as he looked away, glancing towards the doors that lead to the shuttle bay nearby as some steady tramp of boots began filling the space. "Ahem, then. Well, I do assure you, captain, that the necessary supplies will be sent to your Sith Lord's ship. Right away. Should be enough left over to satisfy our Major and his pirates."

Quinn nodded absently as he looked towards the small group that was moving through and around the soldiers gathered there in the yawning space of the cold, open bay by now. The burnished gold lines that marked the Mandalorian armor actually glinted in the pale light of the overhead electronics. Kastiel was just then yanking a helmet into place over her dark-haired head, not even breaking her nearly dictatorial stride towards the lifts that lead out from the base.

The bounty hunter was seemingly ringed by all her people, too. Quinn shook his head as he examined the lot of them, and the motley appearance they offered as the group moved along. A very large Houk was following the hunter just then, and he was the one who made for the loud stomping sound that caught his attention. Well, that, and his loud, belting call, "You all need to get the fuck out of the way! Just move it, already!"

Quinn negligently waved towards the ensign, dismissing him. He didn’t even watch the minor flunky scamper away. He only stepped closer, trying to better ascertain the hunter's direction and maybe what purpose had drawn her to Hoth. Her manner was brusque and over-abrupt. Angry, even. Quinn wondered who it was she was hunting on Hoth, and he felt a brief spurt of sympathy for the poor soul. Only because her stiff stance didn't bode for anything sweetly merciful for whatever fool had brought her to the cold planet.

Quinn waited patiently until she was almost passing him by, and then he stepped neatly into her woman's way. Kastiel stopped suddenly, sighing as she considered the Imperial with his crisply dry uniform all neatly pressed as he stood there so properly. Oh, and never mind the obscenely cruel environment all around them, either. She wondered off-handedly if he ever loosened up enough his back actually relaxed from the stick-straight shape of it he maintained.

Doubtful, she decided. Kas waved her hand through the air, "You're in my way, captain."

Quinn nodded, "Indeed. What target are you seeking here now, then?" He actually felt the hunter's glare even through the faceplate that covered her face, and he realized she was quite more angry than he first sensed. He was suddenly and weirdly reminded of Lusiel. It was almost like the very energy around her buzzed the same way Lusiel’s did, maybe. It made him frown as he felt disconcerted.

And then he caught sight of ... the pest! The tiny beast was perched like some kind of horrid parasite on top of Kastiel's boot, with its tail wrapped around her ankle so it didn’t fall away from her lower leg. Quinn glared hard as his namesake laughed up at him, hard enough its entire body danced and shook, and its leathery ears trembled with amusement. Then the monkey-lizard held up both of its little hands, with only its tail holding it in place so it could wave its fingers in his direction, burbling wetly, "Pbbbfffttt!"

Gault chuckled, muttering aloud as he leaned closer to Mako, "And here I thought there'd be no entertainment during this little adventure." But the little cyborg shook her head in reply, "Hardly the point of us coming here, Gault."

Quinn breathed slowly. He insisted to himself it was mostly because the monkey-lizard's fuzz-ridden body was irritating his already sensitive sinuses. But he still twisted his lips in disgust, "You didn't kill it. Such an unfortunate oversight, hunter."

Kastiel shrugged, hardly caring, "Hey, it's not on Balmorra anymore."

"Neither am I, however. Which greatly heightens the chance I'll come into contact with the little beast again."

"You could always go back to Balmorra," she smirked at him. He could feel it even through the faceplate that obscured her features. Quinn very nearly sighed. Vette's sardonic wit was bad enough, he supposed. Although he didn't have to contend with the hunter's acerbic humor so regularly, either. A boon, that.

Quinn twisted a frown at her, "You've used the little monster to divert my attention. Unwise, hunter. I could provide assistance in whatever task has brought you to Hoth, after all."

Kastiel canted her head sideways as she regarded him. She didn’t smile this time, only stating, "All right. But your Sith still owes me, after."

Quinn pursed his lips, never noting how simply the hunter kept him from paying over-attention to her real purpose where Lusiel was concerned. It helped that Quinn suddenly felt his nose tingle with an impending sneeze again, and he sighed loudly. "I make no assumptions regarding my Lord's debts, hunter. She so often acts as I least expect, after all." He smiled tightly at her, "She could decide to destroy you, mind you."

Kastiel shook her head, "She won't." Her tone was adamantly certain. Quinn frowned, unsure why the bounty hunter was that much confident. And just as certain that eventually Lusiel would respond to her needs, too. He raised a brow in Kastiel’s direction, "You’re so certain of a Sith’s decisions?"

The bounty hunter shrugged, looking past him towards the lifts again, "She’s no mere Sith, though. Is she? She married a common soldier, not a Sith like herself. She married _you_. So _I_ know she hates to watch one of hers bleed. No, captain … What she owes me is tremendous." Quinn startled, realizing why she might better understand Lusiel's inclinations. He frowned as he looked back at the hunter's companions. He counted them quickly, remembering the reports that came from the Moff on Quesh. The one who insisted Lusiel act to punish the hunter when her man beat the silly, young officer to within an inch of his life. The hunter's man ... where was he?

He grumbled slowly, "Someone important to you, then. He’s been taken from you ... the man who put Major Faradin into a neat coma, as I recall." Quinn felt personal satisfaction when the hunter flinched at the direct and ready assumption. Something he was fairly sure few people could manage, in fact. Catching her off-guard, that is. "Well, then. Let's go over your plan. Where have they demanded you go?"

He focused intently on the bounty hunter, her crew and her mission. It's why he said, much later, that he never noticed Draagh watching him from across the room. Quinn never knew he was being hunted as much as anything.

* * *

Torian turned his burning golden gaze towards the door as it suddenly burst open. He stared through the portal at the men yanking on armors and hefting up rifles and blasters alike. He heard Chask spitting out rough sounds of amusement, "Her ship was observed entering the system. I told you so! She came running after the bone like the bitch she really is! Now, let's get this done, and get our asses off this popsicle of a world!"

Torian twisted against the hard ties holding him in place against the stiff chair, and he felt the briefest respect for whoever was just smart enough to make restraints that actually worked. Hells, it would take him a good minute or more to break free of these ones. He watched the men coming through the door, with those wide smirks stretching across their faces. He considered telling them how much he admired the knots of the plastoid ties. But only for the moment before he saw Chask duck inside the little room, too.

Chask grinned at Torian, his giddiness more than apparent, "Seems our doubts you were important to her were misplaced, huh? She must've left Belsavis faster than snot from a runny nose to have gotten here so fast.” Chask gestured to his fellows, chuckling, “Damn, Mando! I think the woman actually appreciates the way you use that prick of yours!" Torian kept his face frozen tight as he stayed quiet, using the cold and hunger he felt to stifle what he wanted to say. The bruises that lined his face throbbed in steady pulses as he held still and silent and stared back at Chask.

Chask commanded the others, "Grab him up. We have to get him strung just so, so that he's the very first thing she sees when she walks inside the room." The smile slid off his face when the men only eased closer to Torian. Chask growled at them, "He's tied to the fucking chair, you morons."

One of the milquetoast fighters snapped his head around to glare at Chask, "He managed to kill three men ... and that was _after_ he was tied to the chair!" Torian felt a spurt of humored amusement as two of the men finally reached out to grab him, to pull him up onto his freezing feet and overly numb toes. Chask waved the controller for the collar that continued to clasp Torian's neck as they manhandled him through the door.

"He knows we'll fry him if he tries anything ... just get him into position!" Chask was yelling orders as they moved along, quickly enough that Torian relaxed against the men's hold so his feet were half-dragging along the floor. Just preserving his own energy that much.

They moved him through another, wider door into a yawning chamber. The roof stretched up nearly two stories above their heads. Torian wondered dazedly what sort of structure was used to create the space; perhaps it was some old transport that crashed onto the planet's surface decades past. But they suddenly reached the center of the space and yanked his arms up so hard and fast he hissed in pain before he could stop himself, stretching his limbs sharply straight to secure his bound wrists onto a cable extending down from a series of metal girders overhead.

Torian felt like laughing as he dropped his head back to examine the cable his hands were tied to now, even as the thing tautened and raised up. His toes were left dangling just briefly against the floor. Ignorant _chakaar_ , he thought. Mandalorian _children_ were taught how to break loose of such traps, anyway.

Hell, Korwis made a game of it, directing him through far tougher courses, even: " _There's power in fooling your enemies, letting them think they have you stuck into place. There's no such thing, Torian! Even tied, you have the means to fight! Now ... this time round, all you need to do is grip the line above your head_." Korwis had pointed firmly towards end of the rope where Torian's small hands were tied up above his head one time, " _You grip it hard and raise yourself higher. Frees your legs to make the cruelest kicks, or gives you the chance to climb higher and out of reach. Or until you can loosen the ties to free yourself. Only remember to fight like mad!_ "

Torian played such games before he followed Korwis into the field, when he was still just six and seven years-old. These _shabuir_ bastards were only the sorriest pieces on the game board here today, he thought. So he only played along for now, smoothing his features into calm complacency as he spun in the briefest circle there above the floor.

That's when he caught sight of the doorway across the far side of the room. Torian felt his stomach tighten as he imagined Kastiel coming through that opening.

Torian glanced down his front, and he slowly inhaled. His armor was missing, torn from his frame as they'd brought him to Hoth. The shirt that still covered his torso was rent in several places and splattered with blood. Not so much his own as others but it was still bright and appallingly clear against the torn cloth. Large purple blotches against his ribs and abdomen were obvious through the rips in the fabric, too. Torian looked up again but he only caught sight of his wrists, where the skin was torn raw and red.

Kastiel would be hurt by the sight of him, Torian thought.

Chask laughed aloud all over again, yelling out towards his men as they took their places around the room, "She's nothing but a little girl trying to play with the big boys! And when she sees we've broken her pretty doll, she'll panic. We have her exactly where we want her, hah!" The men gathered around Chask laughed, too. Some of them called ways and plans how they would break her spirit, shatter her form – ugly and mean words intended to strengthen their flagging confidence.

Torian ignored them all. He only watched the doorway, waiting. Aching at knowing his woman would be even pained that much to see him bruised and battered. He heard Chask chuckling, "The advertisement was clear enough. Keeping her alive isn't necessary. But no. There's not a reason in the world to make her dying a simple or easy one." Chask thumbed towards Torian's swinging form, "He's definitely earned the opportunity to watch, at least."

Torian leaned his head back around to look into the human's laughing face, and he watched as Chask's laugh slowly bled from his face. Torian didn't say a single word, either. But Chask still knew suddenly. He knew that what Torian was picturing right then wasn't Kastiel's dark, painful end. But Chask’s own.

Like it was already done.

* * *

Quinn told her: " _The facility where they have him is an old structure, actually. It was once used by a band of pirates as a base of operations for their activities in this sector. Then an Imperial contingent ran them out several years ago. But they only mapped the place before finally abandoning it entirely_."

Kastiel stopped when she caught sight of him. She stood quietly frozen and unmoving in the doorway just over the raised floor covering the icy ground. Torian’s blonde head whipped around when he heard her step, his golden brown eyes flying wide as he took in the sight of her. Her hands fell to her sides, as she grappled with the urge to pull her weapons loose and send the bolts flying across the room at the bantha fodder standing nearby Torian's slowly spinning form.

Just behind her Mako was cursing, "Fuckers. Is that his blood, or theirs?" Torian was only briefly covered. Kastiel couldn’t see where his armor pieces might be, but they certainly weren’t covering his form right then. The ripped cloth that did provide his only covering exposed every blasted purpling bruise on his torso, too. Bruises reached up over top of a collar on his neck, and his face looked swollen. There was blood that had dried along his upper lip from where it dripped down from his nose and his left cheek was a large blue-black mess of bruised flesh.

Kastiel breathed in and then out again, struggling to maintain her self-control. Then Torian just briefly inclined his head, firmly lifting his chin to show her. That, and he gave a strong pull on the cable where he was suspended, so that whatever strain his shoulders and back had been suffering was eased. It was enough to assure her. Just that much to soothe her rage.

_He's alive_ , she thought. Alive and well able to fight, too.

Kastiel’s eyes narrowed then as she took in the scene, and she frowned. Only because she saw the battleground for what it was, and never mind that the fool GenoHaradan raised up a blaster he pointed towards the back of Torian's head. He prattled mere drivel that annoyed her, sounding amused, "Blast. And we've been having such fun just waiting for you, hunter. Ah, well. We'll have to finish this up after, huh, Mando?" He raised up the blaster then, using the side of the thing to level a hard blow against the side of Torian's temple. Torian grunted loudly, spinning in a mad circle there on the cable, the thing twanging loudly from the motion.

Mako yelped, preparing to jump at the _shab_. But Kastiel grabbed against Mako’s elbow, eyeing the corners of the room as she pulled the little female back so she stumbled against Kastiel's hip. The fool assumed she was outdone already, as if he was the one controlling the course. Kas might have smiled over the miscalculation; she might have laughed, even.

But she could see blood on her own _riduur_ , still.

Kastiel fixed her cold gaze onto the GenoHaradan bastard, and she uttered with frigidly hostile promise, "You are an idiot. For seeking my attention so directly, I mean. I promise you’ll pay for every damned bump on him now."

The man’s eyes glittered with the briefest shadow. But then Torian said several words the GenoHaradan didn't understand and Chask laughed aloud all over again, "Is he warning you of the trap we laid? I hope he’s warning you using that sweet code you Mandalorian scum are so proud of, like it makes you part of some fancy club. Tell me that’s what he said!"

Kastiel lifted a shoulder, but she otherwise ignored the _shab_. She stalked forward, calling out towards Torian as she moved, "If you let him shoot you, Tor, I'll bust your ass. I may bust it anyway. We're so going to talk about this once I have you back on the Bad Boy."

Chask blinked towards her, confused for a long moment. Then he felt a trill of anger against his diaphragm, his stomach tightening when he caught sight of Torian's mean grin from where he continued swinging in circles so slowly still. Kastiel was very nearly close enough he could reach out to smack her, even as her little friend was shooting him a mean grin from behind her shoulder. Chask scowled and gripped the handle of his blaster even tighter, and then suddenly Torian muttered at him, "I’ve had fun enough, Chask. But you’ll not _ever_ touch her."

Chask felt his anger spiking still higher as he realized the first time Torian said a single word to him, it was to promise him a blasted threat. As if _he_ was the one who set the entire thing into motion! But he was still strung up like a dumb beast at slaughter! Chask snarled at the both of them, "You Mandalorians treat hunting like it's a game! But there’s a price to be paid – you bear the consequences when you go around the galaxy waving your weapons around! So today you'll pay for the lives you've taken!" Chask finally raised his blaster, growling threateningly at Kastiel.

And that was the moment a loud, ferocious boom sounded through the place. _That_ was when all Hell broke loose.

Quinn had pointed out: " _The maps are clear enough. There are several entrances into the base. But it's doubtful your enemies will be aware of any but the main doorway into the place. Not if they're Republic. They haven't had access long enough, anyway. No, they'll likely concentrate their entire attention on that doorway, rather than any of these other entrances. It's an opportunity for you to move your people into position_."

Torian lashed out brilliantly fast. Chask was staggered. Torian could see he was still confused, as Chask’s head spun around trying to understand what was happening. But Torian wasn’t willing to let him recognize the truth in time.

Torian’s legs flew up, his bare feet flying fast and hard into the very bottom of Chask’s chin. Chask’s head snapped backwards under the force of the blow, so hard that his teeth actually clacked together with a sharp popping sound. He fell backwards, blood spurting from his mouth in a wild gush. Chask fell onto the floor like a stone. But he was still conscious enough. His gaze only blurred with desperately pained tears as he turned his aching head towards the far side of the room, back where he'd stationed a good six of his men.

Through the watery haze that obscured his vision Chask desperately tried making sense of the trollish figure that came bursting out from underneath one of the metallic walkways. Like it was an exploding bomb! He was slow to understand it was a houk. A huge-ass houk! And he was roaring as he moved. Like he was some maddened animal, he yelled, "Bout time I get to have some fun! Whoopie! Come on! I fucking dare you!" Where did the hunter find a houk like that?

Then the little cyborg started shouting, too. Mako shouted, "Use the vibrosword, you dumb-ass Skadge! That's why we gave you the stupid thing!" But Chask's men were running out from behind their cover, screaming shrilly as the houk chased them down. The big houk yelled back to Mako, "Hah! This is _way_ more fun!" Chask watched one of his men go flying, literally, nearly ten feet across the room. From a single blow of that houk’s big mug of a fist!

Chask cursed violently, trying to drag himself back up. But he stopped when the bounty hunter's put her boot firmly into the center of his chest to hold him down. Chask turned his glaring eyes up towards her but she didn’t notice. Her head was bent backwards as she shouted up towards the yawning beams in the roofway overhead. So Chask lay back and looked up at the ceiling, too. He coughed out the blood still filling his mouth.

But he could only lay there, watching – as the long line of cable swayed under Torian’s quick climb up into the metal trusses overlooking the cavernous space. Chask saw there was a devaronian up there, too. The devaronian bent sideways, reaching down quickly to grab against Torian’s outstretched hand to pull him up onto the girder where he was hunkered. Gault Rennow tucked the Mandalorian’s injured frame behind his own, before he knelt down all over again and raised up his sniper rifle. Then Gault returned to raining fire down onto the GenoHaradan figures down below him.

Above Chask's bleeding face, Kastiel grunted and held up both her blasters as she spun in a wide circle. Blaster bolts flew across the long space, flaying against the brief forms of those men who tried to rush at her. Oh, they tried. But they failed, falling into bloody lumps against the ground one after another. Their peels of pained shock echoed through the room, even after the life was finished from them. Chask actually whimpered as he heard them dying, and he waited, waited. He waited for the bolt she'd send into _him_ and he wondered dazedly how much it would hurt.

Shouts, blaster fire, stomping sounds - it all echoed through the space for long, wild seconds. But the incredible cacophony tapered to an end in sullen eventuality, as the GenoHaradan fighters slowly wilted and died under the bounty hunter's blistering attack. There was one last ringing laugh from the houk - a solid and terribly delighted yell as Skadge sent a huge booted foot flying against the back of one man's vulnerable neck. The crack of bone breaking spilled through the air.

Kastiel snorted towards Skadge then, "Back off. Now. I have better things to do than sit on your sorry ass while I finish this." She lifted her chin, gesturing towards Mako to watch that the houk followed her directions. The cyborg was staring at Skadge, her small nose scrunched into a disgusted expression. But Skadge moved quickly to obey the bounty hunter. So Kas pointed towards the doors, "Secure every one of the entrances, Mako. Not stupid-like, like these brief fools here. Use the houk to lift the doors back into place."

“I have a name, hunter,” Skadge growled.

“You can keep your name here if you want, too. You’re only holding up the wall of my ship, otherwise. Useless fucking houk …” Kastiel kept on muttering sour sounds, her head bent upwards as she watched Gault and Torian moving to join them back on the floor. Chask only laid there, listening, and that's how he realized the simplicity of Kastiel's blistering defeat of more than forty grown and skilled men with nothing but her own blasters and a few measly, motley fighters of her own. He tried twisting around, tried rising again.

But then Kastiel suddenly reached out and grabbed Chask by his hair. Her grip was tight and painful against the very top of Chask’s scalp and he yelped when her gloved fingers dug into the sensitive skin, there. She dragged him upright, flinging him back to his feet so that she could face him fully. Then she waved behind him, towards Gault.

The devaronian settled Torian against a low table, making sure the Mandalorian was able to balance himself there. Then he moved quick to hold Chask up, yanking his head back roughly. Kastiel smoothly ripped the helmet off her head so that she could see the bastard full-bore. He had thought looking at her face would make his disdain easier. But when he finally caught sight of the burning sable-brown color of her eyes and he knew how utterly enraged she really was, Chask caught back a gasp. She pointed at him, "You fucking _hurt_ him!"

Chask felt his own anger spark again, and he bit out, "There're consequences ... !"

"Exactly! Each man owns the consequences of his actions - the choices he makes." Kastiel sauntered around the human's frame, stopping only long enough to lean closer and she snarled against his side, " _You_ brought me here. _Your_ consequences are lying all around this room!" He looked back and forth, like she knew he would. He looked at the mangled, bloody corpses. The ones Skadge was kicking out of his way as he moved towards the far doors and brief hallways the GenoHaradan never bothered exploring. Chask shuddered, "There were more than enough of us ..."

Kastiel snorted, "You think the Hunt is a game, though! You haven't even tried wrapping your mind against the truth of what the Hunt's designed to do. You stop at the most superficial appreciation of the test it really is." She glanced past him. Torian was raising himself up to rejoin Kastiel. She looked back at Chask, "So let's really talk about consequences, huh?"

Quinn insisted: " _Don't make the mistake of stopping with the mere fodder they've sent against you, hunter! You must brand your resolve upon the leader who presses them. Ensure that they know that the destruction of their tools will never be enough. Else they'll continue sending them against you._ " Oh, Malavai Quinn was so right.

* * *

The Overseer watched the hunter's face as she leaned closer to the holoterminal to address him. She didn’t loom over the terminal, though. It was far more a skillful use of the terminal technology to communicate her presence and intention, rather. He was impressed all over again. Damn Seros, for losing him such an opportunity.

Her features were hard and determined right then, as he would have expected. The Overseer was nearly as bitterly angry as the hunter was, actually. The investment devoted to this effort was apparently wasted, and now he was not only lesser an _entire_ team. But also the woman he wanted the GenoHaradan to use, as well. All he could do now was examine her features over a blasted viewscreen, and the Overseer inhaled slowly to keep from betraying his upset to the entire room.

He tried to fit the woman’s image to the picture of her that Seros gave him, and failed utterly. She was not so much a “grasping little monster that leered at you through twisted scars” and her dark eyes did not “flash with gluttonous darkness”. No, there was more to this Kastiel … The Overseer frowned suddenly. What was she called by, once she was an adopted Mandalorian? How did such people define themselves, then?

He wet the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully as he slowly paced in front of the holoterminal. The lines on Kastiel’s face really were cruel things, like Seros said. They were old, too. She must have been a small child when the skin of her jaw and up to her cheek were torn. He imagined how much the wounds likely bled, thought of the trauma and the fear it might make in a child’s mind … But as Kastiel turned her head to address him, the Overseer realized how easy it was to disregard the marks, too. As vivid and real as the scars were, Kastiel still managed to look appealing. And the scars were covered over with a painted tattoo now, as well. Like the stroke of fingers over the tender skin of her throat and across her jaw, as if a hand was cradling her face almost – the burgundy lines of ink only emphasized her attractiveness, somehow.

The Overseer wouldn’t have called her pretty. It was something else, actually. She had an indelible strength, an enduring kind of beauty that just couldn’t be broken apart, and something utterly and incredibly _alluring_. He considered the metallic sheen of the implants under the eyes, the brilliant gleam of the things as they arched up to reach towards her ears, too, and he slowly shook his head. She destroyed a solid team of nearly fifty experienced and capable fighting men. Fifty men! And she couldn’t hear a damned thing without a set of absurd implants the entire while!

Damn Seros! The Overseer had given up the fight over convincing Seros too soon, and he wasted a valuable commodity twice over. First in the team he gave up to try and take her. And then again in making her such a potent foe from here on out. Because he could see it in the terrible glare she leveled into the holoterminal. Whatever name she was calling herself after the clans adopted her, it was obvious Kastiel would never forgive the GenoHaradan this offense.

Kastiel declared through the recording: " ... I don't know your names. But give me more reason, and I'll learn what I need to know. I'll find you and I will destroy you down to the last man. I swear it." She frowned, "Don't fuck with me and don't ever again touch what's mine. Never! Again! Harm another hair on my _riduur's_ head, and the next time you see my face it will be over the length of my blaster." She turned her head and inclined her chin, then. It was signal enough, apparently. Because that’s when the erstwhile leader of the GenoHardan team was shoved into place in front of the terminal.

Oh, Chask Borvin was no novice to the work of the GenoHaradan. It’s why they trusted him with this particular task. They offered him an entire team and the resources to support them as they moved across several systems just to win the prize. Chask was a prodigious investment for the GenoHardan! And there he was now – practically sniveling and weeping real tears as he begged for his life!

The Overseer pressed his lips tight together and crossed his arms over his chest as he considered the man. Chask wasn’t even tied! He was bleeding pretty badly against the lower half of his face, and it looked like his jaw was broken, perhaps. But his arms flayed widely as he squirmed and tried twisting away from the tight hold the hunter’s Mandalorian lover kept on him. He simply wasn’t able to get away.

And the Mandalorian was damaged so much more than Chask, too. It boggled the Overseer’s mind just looking at him. The blonde-haired warrior was battered black and blue, across his face and much of his torso, and his bare feet were almost white with cold in the open space of the room. But he still managed to hold Chask tightly enough the braying ass of a man couldn’t rip himself free to run away.

The Overseer narrowed his eyes as that Mandalorian raised up a long, thin blade that he used to slice Chask’s neck wide and blood-red open. Chask’s eyes bulged in purest shock as he stiffened into the most rigid attention against the Mandalorian’s frame. Chask shook and trembled as the blood gushed from his cut throat and down over his front, and the Mandalorian held him up just long enough for him to finally and completely die. Then he let Chask go, and the human slowly slumped into a sodden heap onto the cold floor in front of the terminal.

The Overseer watched the entire process, and most especially the way the pair of Mandalorians interacted. Without words, with the barest gestures, even, they simply worked in the most perfect synchronization. Like a sweetly terrible symphony and with deadly, methodical precision. Kastiel didn’t even look back at the terminal after Chask was finally dead; she just pressed the connection closed and the image twinkled out.

The Overseer hummed thoughtfully, then, “What did she call him? _Riduur_ … Is that a fighting title of some kind, or a rank? Something Mandalorian?" His companion harrumphed from behind him then, and the Overseer turned to look at him from over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised up bluntly sharp.

It was rare to get a Mandalorian to join their ranks, of course. But the ones the clans considered disgraced sometimes made their way into the Republic’s ranks. Sometimes. The Overseer only waited, and Stefin shrugged, “It’s no mere rank, overseer. Not hardly, anyway. More of a claim. And a promise.”

"Just explain. I have little patience to spare now, mind you."

"A _riduur_... it means ‘beloved’. It’s what a Mando will call their spouse. She just told you that Cadera is her husband.” Stefin ran his thumb in a line along the curl of his thick jaw, thoughtfully considering, “She's basically saying you insulted her inclination towards defending family. That you've offended her _resol'nare_ \- her honor."

The Overseer stiffened, "Do you think I should be afraid? Of one single Mandalorian woman?"

Stefin grinned, "That single Mandalorian woman’s already burning her way through Republic and Jedi ranks to get to Jun Seros. You’d better decide if you’re willing to be one of the obstacles she steps over to reach him, I think."


	96. Who's Hunting Who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has long frustrated me. It's gone through more than one re-write. Mostly because it always ended up vague and confusing, more than anything. I've even thought it should be included in Gaibriel's or Khyriel's story, rather. But ultimately it belongs here, I think. So here it goes.

Khyriel watched them.

He was rather good at watching. It _was_ a skill, mind you. To be in the right place where he would catch sight of whatever he wanted to know. And _knowing_ was worth everything – knowing kept him safe. It allowed him to protect himself and to shield his own sister whenever it was necessary, too.

So he honed the skill with keen vigilance over many, many years. He learned how to stand, where to be, and how to be oh so quiet. Until he could make the blade slide exactly into place when it was really needed.

And it _always_ became needed eventually.

Today he managed to slip by the notice of the gamblers, party-goers, and entertainment-seekers on the once-Hutt dreadnaught, though. His ostentatious jacket and bright, purple pants were pretty enough that he blended in quite well, at least. That was apparent from the many interested glances that most of the females and even several males shot towards him as he maneuvered through the crowd to reach one of the gaming tables. Which only assured him that his Imperial ties were well-hid, too. Because Port Nowhere didn’t tolerate the Empire quite so much, yet they wanted _him_ there.

But Khyriel liked Port Nowhere very much. He liked how it was so many criminals and ne’er-do-well were all gathered together in one brilliant, easy-to-find location. It was really perfect, Khy thought. And that was _before_ he knew who claimed the vessel, even.

Of course Kastiel would send Zale Barrows to Port Nowhere. The place was an uncomplicated center – a middle ground that neither the Empire or the Republic noticed quite so much. Somewhere that a bounty hunter and her smuggler brother could connect together and still remain sweetly hidden out of sight.

Khyriel _didn’t_ know that Andronikus Revel called Port Nowhere’s master a personal friend, though. But Revel was loud-mouthed enough for his voice to reach Khyriel where he was playing sabaac right then. Perhaps Khy should pull the blasted pirate aside long enough to explain the value of a muzzle over his damningly wide open mouth. Or he could demonstrate the proper application of a gag. At least that would be amusing.

“Don’t be thinking he’s some little buddy of mine, Barrows. This isn’t chummy companionship we’re talking about, here,” Revel stabbed the top of the table where he was sitting with Barrows as he explained. “First time I saw ‘im, Gaib Duncan still had burns from a slave collar ‘cross his neck. Yea, Gaib’s got balls. Fucking balls! He’ll bring your girl here, no worries.”

Khyriel almost hummed with blatant satisfaction. Because until then, he really wasn’t certain where the strings were that might have worked to get Zale Barrows out from Belsavis with his heart still beating and breaths still in his lungs. But it was simple enough, after all. Just an old friendship between their little brother and the pirate lover of an up and coming Sith lordling, was all it took.

Revel hooted suddenly, and he waved towards the far cantina doorway. Risha Drayen let go of the tiny-framed zabrack female then, and Kayla Perlis yelped as she ran across the floor to fling herself into Zale’s outstretched arms. The smuggler grasped the little female, pulling her so hard up against himself that her hard little horns dug into the soft skin of his throat. Khyriel thought Zale might be crying as he held onto Kayla, and he could definitely hear his voice even muffled the way it was as he buried his face in her hair, “I’m so sorry, love. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that ... I’ll never be able to repay the hunter ...”

Khyriel frowned as he leaned harder against the lining of the table and subtly glanced over at the small group celebrating their reunion. Risha was smiling towards Andronikus Revel, offering him directions to the docking bay where his transport back to Imperial space was located. It was obvious Barrows would be remaining on Port Nowhere with the little zabrack, too. Not surprising, considering that Darth Tormen would likely hunt them all over again if he knew Zale Barrows survived.

Khyriel dramatically brushed imaginary lint from the bottom edge of his jacket, muttering to his aside, “Why would she go to such lengths, Raina?” His wife playfully pressed herself closer to him, performing the role of a sycophantic courtesan even better than he might have anticipated when they planned the show. His wife … Khyriel couldn’t help the briefest smile as Raina rubbed her pert breasts under that terribly indecent little shirt-thing that made up her costume right then against his side.

Khyriel purred his approval of Raina’s provocative motion. Then he brushed the beaded and hard little nub of her nipple with the softest touch of his fingers. Raina leaned backwards to look up at him, smiling as she shifted her legs apart so she could bump his thigh with the moist heat gathering along her groin. She bent even closer to him, softly licking the lobe of his ear then, “The devaronian. It’s the only possible reason for such lengths, really. It turns out Zale Barrows was very good friends with Tyresius Lokei once upon a time, anyway.”

Khyriel nodded slowly, and he didn’t remind Raina he supposed Gault Rennow and Tyresius Lokei were one and the same from the first. His own observations of the devaronian as Gault went through the convoluted motions of guarding him simply didn’t describe a mere speeder salesman. There was always “just more” to Gault than the superficial identity he presented. And of course Kastiel was resourceful enough to use the devaronian that much.

Eventually Andronikus Revel waved towards Zale and his little lover, before moving to leave. Khyriel moistened his lower lip as he thought, “He’ll head off to meet with Gaibriel before he returns to Imperial space. That will keep them both busy enough.” Khy glanced determinedly over at Risha, then. He knew Risha Drayen was a technical expert on the workings of the Freedom’s Way, as she had managed so far to upgrade the starship freighter into a commercial enterprise that netted Gaibriel a regular and _abundant_ windfall pretty regularly.

But to Khyriel, this only meant Risha kept a routine place alongside his own little brother. He needed to secure her eyes and ears, so he could keep on _watching_. He slid a glancing look down along Risha’s sweet shape, considering the delicious curves of her buttocks when she leaned across a low bench to give Zale Barrows a healthy credit chip. Risha’s ass was definitely worth a second glance, Khy thought, amused.

Raina chuckled close to his ear, “Maybe you’ll have a better time with this bit of work, than the last one.” Khy slanted a look towards Raina then, frowning, “I enjoyed touching you last night, actually. It wasn’t what I’d call work.” Raina’s amused expression disappeared with a vivid abruptness, as she bit her lip and turned to look at the wall rather than glance anymore at Khy. If he might have accomplished it he would have kicked himself. Because he hated to make for that look on her face; the one that showed her fighting to hide her hurt from him.

Damn me, Khyriel thought. Why was he always - _always_! - saying the wrong thing to this particular woman? He remained stylishly poised and assured, even charming with everyone he met; was typically in the best and most pretty control of his social interactions. But where Raina was concerned, he dug himself into the ugliest holes. He only kept along with commentary that injured the one precious female he really _wanted_ to impress.

Raina finally bit out, "I would never describe the times I’ve loved you anywhere on the same level as the minor encounters you offer your work, cipher. I’d really rather you avoid saying they’re even similar, too.” He inwardly winced when she used the codename Imperial Intelligence used to describe him. He gave her his name for a _reason_ , anyway. But her slender frame almost quivered in hurting, angry agitation as she pointedly ignored him, her lips tight as she muttered, "I really do _hate_ it when you test me."

Khyriel turned his dark head to watch Risha gathering her things together. And he sighed with frustrated confusion towards his wife, "I swear, you don't even have to try and you manage to confound me to no end, Raina." Khyriel twisted a grin sideways at her then, "Do you do it on purpose, then?"

She turned up one of those gorgeous shoulders of hers, bare in that skimpy blouse of hers. Khyriel felt his stomach tighten with desire as he watched the creamy expanse of her mocha-colored skin curve under his gaze. She bit her lip though, "Don’t you dare make me smile, Khy. I prefer to remain jealous of your affections, rather. They’re _mine_ , anyway.”

Khyriel nuzzled her brow with the very tip of his nose, “No one else can claim my feelings, little one. Not ever.” His name on her lips was assurance enough he was forgiveness. He was content.

“Then I won’t bore you, ever.” Raina tweaked a single slender finger towards the far side of the room then, lifting her chin as Vector caught sight of the gesture. The Joiner moved closer until he could hear them finish the conversation, "I'll return to the Blade, then. And I'll alert you if the Freedom’s Way prepares to leave the Port before you've managed the task."

Khy grabbed her wrist before she was able to take more than a step from his side, though. He dragged her closer, so he could breathe in the sweet fragrance she'd put on her skin when she donned the costume earlier. Gods, he loved this woman, Khyriel thought. "She’s only a _task_ , Raina. But never when I'm with you. I am _yours_."

Raina shook her head, tapping her finger against the line of Khyriel's jaw. "And one of these days you'll know there's not one need for you to tell me that. I know it, Khy. That won't change, I promise." His name on her lips soothed the angst and assured him he was forgiven. He smiled at her. She glanced over his shoulder as Risha ambled through the doorway into the wider passageway of Port Nowhere, gesturing after her, "At least enjoy yourself this time."

Khyriel grinned, "Perhaps she'll try to kill me, instead."

Raina shrugged and stepped backwards from him. She mumbled over her shoulder as she sauntered away, "Well, that would certainly prove more entertaining, at least."

Khyriel stared after her for a long moment. Next to him Vector smiled that brief, seemingly satisfied expression that looked purely alien. Especially with those glaringly ebon-bright eyes of his. Khyriel shrugged, "Do you suppose, Vector, that she only has such profound respect for my skills at defending myself?" He didn't look at the Killik so he missed the glint of amusement that crossed the man's inky gaze as he considered the mated pair.

"I believe she manages to entice you well more than any other female you've encountered," Vector mused.

Khyriel shot his eyebrows up as he glanced over at Vector, "More, yes. Still. Let's see what Nok Drayen's little princess has to offer, too, hmm?" Vector followed him through the passages, moving along the same path Risha went. They both knew where she was going, anyway. Her captain had quarters set aside for his own use on Port Nowhere. But that didn't stop Khyriel from enjoying a spurt of amusement as he watched Risha jump several startled feet in the air when he finally slipped through the doorway into Gaib’s quarters, so that Risha spun around to glare solidly over at him.

At least Vector didn't stay too close to ruin the game. The Joiner stayed out of sight, sliding back into one of the darker corners just outside the door. He only stayed close enough to keep watch over the entrance and to guard Khyriel's back.

Khyriel smiled over at Risha now, as the door slid closed behind him. But Risha just continued glaring at him. She certainly wasn’t foolish enough to grab up a weapon to threaten him, Khyriel considered. He didn't try to hide his amusement from her, either. He only watched her with his darkly brown eyes that twinkled much more charmingly than the last time he looked up at her. Risha grumbled, "Gaib says you’d never try killing him. He shouted at me, even. Mostly because I was of the adamant belief we should kill you first, mind you. I’m trying to figure out which one of us is proved right today."

Khyriel chuckled, deliberately low so the sound rumbled into a seductive purr. Risha’s eyes narrowed tellingly at him, though, and he was delighted she saw through his angling motions so quickly. Much more challenging, then. Khyriel stepped further into the room, his eyes coolly warm and tempting, "You were lurking in his rooms before I was. Perhaps you’re the real threat, Risha."

Risha wagged a finger in his face. He watched that slender appendage moving through the air and listened to her admonishing him, "Don't give me any of your slick gambits, you damn Imp son of a bitch. I'm no one's fool!" Khyriel didn't even stop himself from laughing this time. He only leaned his head back and let the sounds of his amusement fill the brief space, laughing, "Well, at least you've got my mother pegged. Who knew you'd manage the feat so neatly, even. Oh, I like you, Risha."

He dropped his head down and stared over at her with unhurried judgment. She could see the wheels turning in his head, his considerations moving fast. It was like watching a machine working, and she felt the daunting intimidation of it. Almost like she'd fallen into a deep pool of water suddenly and her head was completely covered so she couldn’t breathe. She knew – _knew_! – that if he thought she was any sort of danger he wouldn’t hesitate to cut her throat. But he shrugged finally, assuring her, "I mean it, too. You are truly precious."

Risha huffed sullenly. She let her hand fall down against her hip, slowly slid it around towards her backside. "Which doesn’t explain what the hell you’re doing here, either," Risha bit out. She refused to admit she was glad he didn’t believe she was a threat.

"Perhaps I’m only enjoying a brief vacation from my tedious business." Khyriel stepped even closer to her. The pointed tips of her breasts just barely brushed his own chest, when she suddenly yanked her hand up. Khyriel grabbed her wrist firmly, and he grinned when the glint of the dagger’s blade twinkled in his own brown eyes. He angled her wrist upwards, so that the blade was pointed straight up between them. Risha knew he could easily and simply break her wrist, but he only remained smiling as his fingers kept her wrist circled and he squeezed against the nerves along her slender bones. She felt her fingers growing numb, until she helplessly dropped the dagger onto the floor at their feet.

Khyriel yanked her even closer, so that her groin was pressed roughly against his own. He hummed a whispering breath along the soft line of her jaw, "You smell so good, Risha. Like warm spices, perhaps. Just how wet are you already, hmm? Would you like to show me?"

"Fuck you!"

"By all means." Khyriel slid both his arms down, until he clasped her just under the cheeks of her sweet buttocks. Then he pulled her up so her feet dangled just above the floor and she fell forward against him fully. She gasped a single moan when her breasts finally pressed fully against his warm chest, nearly bit her lip through as she tried hiding it from him.

But Khyriel only smiled as he stepped backwards, carrying her with him as he went. He glanced at the arched doorway that lead into the sleeping area and the wide bed there. But he didn’t take Risha into his brother’s private space. Instead, Khyriel settled himself into a padded chair set next to the table nearby the center of the room, and he pulled Risha firmly onto his lap so that her thighs straddled his own.

Risha was breathless, "You’re absolutely insane."

He smiled, his brown eyes glowing across the brief space between their faces at her, "Maybe. Do you want me to let you go, Risha?"

Risha bit her lip as she glanced towards the door, "I won't let you hurt him, agent. I _can’t_ …"

Khyriel purred so slowly then, so that she felt the rumble moving all along her front where she was still pressed down into him. He was watching her closely, unsmiling now as he murmured, "Ah, Risha. You really are in love with my brother, aren’t you?"

Risha didn't even hesitate and he didn’t stop her. The open palm of Risha’s hand slapped against the side of his face, fast, snapping his head sideways. Khyriel felt the sting smarting with red brilliance as he turned his head back around until he faced her again. Risha tried pulling herself off his lap but Khyriel held her in place, his lips barely bent into a beguiling twist. Damn him for being so alluring, she thought. Risha snarled at him, "If you came here to kill me, thinking it would hurt him then be prepared for disappointment. To him, I’m just a friend."

"He doesn’t make friends easily, though. Does he, Risha? How many years did they steal friends from him? Did you know they put him in the mines and the ruins? Do you know what that even means? _I_ do." Khyriel’s eyes glittered dangerously now, as if the pain Gaibriel endured wearing a slave collar offended _him_ even more. Khyriel turned his head down abruptly, scanning her body all along the front. Then he softly bucked his hips against hers, slowly rubbing himself harder into her wet core, "You’re angry and scared all at once. Come on, Risha … You really need it, don't you?"

"Why? Do you think it will make him jealous? Are you that much a bastard? It won’t even work, damn it!"

Khyriel shook his head, chuckling now, "I wasn’t fortunate enough to be born a bastard, actually. My own mother was a bitch of the highest order. She’s the reason I lost so much of my brother and his sisters. _My_ sisters." Risha only stared at him then, looking more bewildered than anything. But then Khyriel clucked his tongue with creamy smoothness, "Ahhh, Risha. Stop worrying. I want to be your friend, only. Friends help each other out. And you so need a new friend right now. Don’t you?"

She glanced at the door again, thinking fast. Wondering how much time she had before Gaibriel came looking. Then she glanced downwards, slowly licking her lips. Khyriel hummed at her one more time, and he smiled lightly as she finally decided, “That’s it, Risha. That’s right.” Risha was moving quickly, her fingers flying between them as she released buttons and clasps holding the fabrics that divided them together. The rasping sound of the cloth being pushed aside filled the room. Risha moaned lightly when she finally clasped him in her hand and felt his trembling pulse against her fingers.

Khyriel leaned his head back against the back of the chair, his eyes narrowed slightly as Risha lifted herself just high enough. She was muttering to herself in the cutest, most adorable manner possible, "This is crazy ... it’s insane. I'm insane." Khyriel didn’t say anything to distract her, though. He only groaned so lightly as she slowly took him inside, sliding down until her pelvis was flush against his own and he could feel every bit of her around him wetly and warm. Then he reached down to hold her hips, rolling her against himself as he bucked up into her. Again. Repeating the motion in a steady rhythm that so they rocked back and forth in the chair and the plastoid legs of the furniture twisted and creaked underneath them.

Risha gasped and moaned with thrilling pleasure. She grasped the lapels of his fine jacket with both her hands, pulling and yanking her own self against him. She licked her lips, biting the corner of her mouth to try stifling her whimpering pleasure. But he was unfettered, groaning every time she twisted her hips to twirl him along the warm muscles inside of her. Then he tilted his pelvis so the slick button glistening atop her sex rubbed against his own groin and Risha dropped her head back to shout aloud towards the roof over their heads, “Damn you! It’s so damned good ...”

Khyriel watched her, his dark brown eyes passion-glazed and heated. But when she looked back at him, he closed his eyes to hide them from her. Risha reached up suddenly to grasp both sides of his face, keeping him focused on her as she frantically whipped her hips back and forth. She kept the rhythm steady, riding him the way she’d imagined since seeing him all the way back on Hoth.

She certainly didn’t want to make this about Gaibriel, either. This was her own pleasure, for her! It had nothing to do with Gaib! Risha gasped out, "Don't pretend with me. Don't you dare!"

He didn’t say anything, then. He didn’t lie or promise her. He just stayed there beneath her, held her on him as he started to tighten, his orgasm rising up along the length of his spine. The backs of his thighs shook roughly as he reached up into her with hard, steady motions. And he never looked away. He kept his dark eyes wide and he watched her unravel there on top of him.

The pleasure bloomed for both of them, sudden and wild and almost nearly in perfect synchronization. Khyriel caught her when she collapsed forward until her face was pressed against the hollow under his collarbone and he could feel the rapid pulses of her breaths in the well of his throat. Risha panted, panted, her heart racing. Until she finally begged him, “Why did you do this?”

Khyriel so gently stroked the palm of his hand down along the warm curve of her bottom, pressing her close just once more. He sighed hard enough to send some tendrils of her hair back from the sweat-thick clumps they’d become on the front of her face, “I wasn’t lying, Risha. You needed _this_. The chance to have someone else; to put aside the longing for someone who’s never going to give you more than he already did.”

Risha pulled herself up so she could claw herself out from the knotted tangle their limbs had become on the cushioned seat. She concentrated on yanking her clothes back into place and listened to the rustle of his own redressing aside her, mumbling without looking at him, "You’ve been watching him long enough to know I wasn’t enough for him, I suppose. Although I thought we’d broken all the Empire’s eyes and ears in this place.” Risha darted a quick, sardonic glance towards him, “Gaib hates the Empire, you know."

Khyriel chuckled, “Risha, I barely knew about him until very, very recently, and I haven’t managed to see so much of him. But he’s _my_ brother. He loves the way we all do, the way my father did, too. Just the once, and never anyone else.” His eyes went even darker suddenly, “My father’s very last breath was the name of the woman he loved, you know. The way Gaibriel Duncan loves a zabrack female, correct? Someone as serious and earnest as he is flippant, I've heard.”

Risha swiftly ran her fingers through the coils of her hair, pulling the strands back into place as she considered him. She sneered, “His daddy loved his mother so much, he kept her a slave and used her accordingly. So that her son became a slave in your sick Empire! They burned scars into his neck! I’d kill him myself before letting you take him back to that world …” And that’s when he finally showed her the bladed whip of his temper.

Khyriel snatched her upper arm and twisted her around to face him fully, ignoring her gasp of surprise and her tender shock at the pain of his grip, “Don’t you ever speak of hurting my brother again, Risha. I’ll forget every smidgeon of friendship I just offered you _and_ the sad worry my brother would feel if you were broken, too, just to make you pay for the mere threat of it. Do you understand me?”

Risha’s eyes were wide now, her nostrils flaring as she watched the taut rigidity of his whole frame so much suddenly. _There_ was the danger she had supposed when Gaibriel was working to create the nanites they eventually injected into Khyriel’s back. Risha was caustic over the effort, insisting it would be better if Gaib used the technology to hasten the agent’s deterioration, instead, “ _It would better to just slice his spinal column for good or just cut his throat ... He’ll kill us all otherwise_.” Gaibriel stiffened and turned on her, angrily shouting at her – shouting! He pointed towards Way’s ramp, “ _You ever again speak of hurting my brother and the kindest thing you’ll get from me is my fucking boot in your ass sending you off my ship, Risha!_ ”

She blinked in bemusement at the nearly verbatim statement from Khyriel right now. It’s almost like, the statement itself was a rote series of words in their heads. Never mind they grew up in different houses, or even different worlds as they got bigger, either. She murmured wonderingly just lowly, “He said the same thing. What …?”

But the moment was suddenly lost. Khyriel's head whipped around when he heard Vector whistling softly, his gaze flying unerringly towards the door as he loosed his grip on Risha’s arm and stepped apart from her. Khyriel crooned softly one last time towards Risha, shrugging as the door started opening, "He's my _brother_. Of course he’d understand." He watched the bewilderment wash through her eyes and he chuckled quietly just as the door swung aside. Khyriel turned around.

For a single moment, Gaibriel was framed in the portal. Khyriel saw the flash of his blue eyes as they narrowed towards the pair of them in the center of the room, all framed by the same inky black hair that covered his own head. His eyes … Khyriel canted his head consideringly, wondering if the rumors about his brother’s sight were accurate. Or merely more exaggerated tales to justify Gaibriel’s successes in the underworld regions of the galaxy, perhaps.

Then Gaib yelped a surprised sound as a hairy wookiee arm pulled him back from the door. Khyriel smiled at the looming figure of a tall wookiee who ducked his head to enter through the open doorway first. Gaibriel prodded him the entire while with a single pointed finger right into the center of his furred back, though. He was practically trilling, “What am I, then? Apparently everyone suddenly thinks they can start calling themselves captain of this crew, aside from me. Oh, and wander into my own quarters while they’re at it, to boot.” Gaib pushed out from behind Bowdaar then, standing there mulishly to stare back and forth between Khyriel and Risha, “You’d better be damned glad my wife didn’t come here before me. Akaavi would’ve cut your pecker off if you tried going at it in our bedroom, agent.”

Risha scowled across the room at him, “I tried gutting him, actually. He just moves pretty quick, is all.” She gestured towards the dagger still lying uselessly cold in the corner of the room, where Khyriel had kicked it earlier. Gaibriel snorted loudly.

“Which brings us back to the ‘who’s in charge around here’ issue,” Gaib leaned back onto the heels of his boots and crossed both his arms over his chest. “I know I told you to take better care. I certainly told you to avoid raising any sort of weapon to him. And I just know you’re not even going to admit which one of us fucks better, either. Damn it, Risha!” Risha gaped at him, so that her mouth opened and closed like a half-dead fish out of water. Khyriel lifted his shoulders and tilted his chin up when Vector slid past the open door. The wookiee glanced over at the Joiner, then. But Bowdaar only snuffled and moved sideways to make room for Akaavi, who growled as she shoved Vector aside to get into the room, too.

Khyriel twisted the corner of his mouth into the smallest smirk as he watched the door finally settle closed behind the small group, “I am the elder, though, so that I possess more experience. There’s no need to even suppose the answer to the question, then. And Khy.”

Gaibriel ignored Risha’s continuing sputters and Akaavi’s growls, too. He only stared across the room towards his brother, “What’s a kye? Is that a strange city on some far off planet I’ve never visited?” Gaib glanced at Risha, his blue eyes narrowing as he considered her for wounds or marks, “You’re only selling my people on some new markets, then? I’m glad to see Risha survived the experience.”

Khyriel chuckled with real humor, “But her blade missed me. And it was good to see she’d raise it in your defense. I like her, even.” He canted his head in Gaibriel’s direction, his mouth firming into seriousness, “And you call me Khy. Not agent, not cipher, not even Khyriel. You’re my brother, you’re important to me… So you call me _Khy_.”

Everyone in the room stopped, all of them staring over at the Imperial agent as if he were some strange, mystical creature burst out from some book of children’s tales and hard to believe in, really. Even Vector stepped closer, so that he stood straight behind Khyriel like a neat line of strong rigor that was designed to bolster his friend’s testimony. But Gaibriel only smiled back at Khy, “Of _course_ I’m important. I’ve said so over and over and so many times, too. Didn’t I, ‘Kaavi love?”

Akaavi pursed her lips as she sidled past Bowdaar to stand alongside her own Gaibriel, butting his shoulder with her own, “You are that damned annoying, yes. But I do doubt your _vod_ came here only to remind you of it.” She raised her chin, so that the soft brown tendrils of her hair fell behind the horns on her forehead and then she demanded Khyriel tell her, “What are you doing here, then?”

Khyriel heard her acceptance, regardless of the severe, unsmiling strength she displayed. He may not understand the intricacies of the Mandalorian language. But he knew the word _vod_ , knew that it meant brother or family or clan. Only because the Mandalorians yelled it towards each other whenever they formed battle lines together. So now he just settled back onto the heels of his boots, soberly examining Gaibriel, “I need to meet Kastiel. I know she was on Belsavis but she left in a rushed hurry. Why?”

“Because she had someone who needed picking up.” Gaibriel shrugged, unabashed and forthright as he suddenly turned into the skilled captain who slipped in and out of notice of lawmen and agencies alike to carry goods and people where they were most needed and regardless of anyone’s rules, “Kas’ husband was nabbed by some group of mercenary assassins, who claim they’re Republic fighters. But I’ve never heard of them.”

Khyriel frowned, “Her husband … He moved rather quick to marry her, didn’t he? Do you trust him? What if this is a trap?”

Akaavi scowled, opening her mouth and leaning forward like she was going to bark at the agent. But Gaibriel gently touched her elbow, so that she subsided. He slowly rubbed his thumb along the inside of Akaavi’s arm, “His name is Torian. He’s the one who dug her out from underneath my own mother’s corpse.” Gaib lifted his shoulders then, “No. Torian _loves_ our sister, Khy. He’s loved her since the day he wiped her face clean of blood and made her willing to live again.”

Risha sniffed softly, “And that’s not why you’re looking for her, either.” Both men turned to look in her direction. She rolled her eyes, “Can’t we just get this over with, I mean? Rather than reminiscing over long-ago bad memories. Or maybe the agent can tell us why we should trust him, when it was his mother who put _your_ mother bloody on the ground, Gaib.”

Khyriel’s mouth firmed into a straight line against the bottom of his face and his eyes turned hard, like burnt umber, “I would’ve gladly tossed Karen out a window myself and in advance, too. If only I’d known who she threatened.” He glared across the room at Risha, “And don’t ever call her my mother again.” Khyriel turned his gaze back to Gaib, frowning, “The only one I’ve ever hated as much as Karen, is her blasted sister. And Pella Hejaran wants to kill Kastiel. She’s put a hunter after her, now. A good one.”

Gaibriel smirked, “Kastiel's better. She knows damned well there’re hunters after her, too. That whole title the Republic’s put on her head, about wanting her dead is a pretty big clue, anyway.” He crossed his arms over his chest, shrugging, “It’s why she’s working for some fancy-assed Sith lord. I haven’t asked what she’s doing for him, mind you. Probably better that way, at least.”

“But you know where she is.”

Gaibriel shook his head slowly, “No. She’s moving too quick for me to keep up with her, rather. But she knows you’re looking for her, too.” Vector hummed suddenly. The Joiner leaned closer to address Khyriel from the side, “Why hasn’t she communicated with you directly, then?”

Gaib harrumphed, “Because we don’t know what hold Pella’s using against you to send you after Kas. So long as you’re on her trail, you’re safe from whatever Pella’s threatening.” Khyriel’s dark eyes widened. His brow furrowed as he thought wildly, “She’s protecting _me_? Even now? Are you serious?”

Gaibriel chortled a rough guffaw, “You’re surprised? You do know how she lost her hearing, right?” Khyriel shook his head, though. So Gaib tightened the curl of his arms against his torso, staring at Khy severely, “She threw herself at the louts who tried to kill us that day. Six damned years-old, and she didn’t even hesitate. She put herself between them and us … Hell, Kas is the most blasted damn protective female I have ever known. And you’re her _brother_.”

Khyriel’s head dropped down as he stared at the floor, thinking for a long moment. They all watched him. He finally murmured, “But _vod_ means brother, too, doesn’t it? She'd trust a _vod._ That's why Pella's hired one of them, someone who could get close to her.” And then Akaavi actually spit. Gaibriel stared down at the mess.

"I'm not cleaning that up, damn it."

* * *

Raina's image took shape against the glimmering sheen of his commlink, as he stopped in the corridor outside his brother’s quarters. Her slender face was stiff with heady concern and she stood at aloof attention. Like some proper Imperial soldier, rather than the wife he'd only just made her.

Damn it, Khyriel thought. He wasn’t going to be able to really celebrate with Raina, even now. He only wanted to make her laugh and smile and hold onto him warmly. Not rush about with him like they were two mad gizka creatures being chased by larger predators, rather. Khyriel demanded stiffly, "What's happened?"

"Lord Lusiel's ship was attacked on Hoth and her husband was injured. She's requesting your most beneficial security protocols until he's returned to health. And she's traveling to Tattooine, in the meantime."

Khyriel pressed his lips tightly together, closing his eyes as he thought. He plotted quickly, "What about the assassin?"

"She watched him burn."

"Good." Khyriel glanced over towards Vector, saw him nod gently towards Risha as she moved past the doors at the far end of the corridor. His gaze narrowed for only a moment, as he considered the Joiner’s interest in the female. It was rare that Vector even looked twice at a woman who flirted with Khyriel. But he seemed particularly keen this time. He turned back to Raina’s image over the link, "We'll meet Lusiel on Tattooine. I need to set measures into place personally, to keep this from happening again. Prepare the Blade."

"Of course."


	97. Forgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes scenes of a graphic sexual nature so that it's not safe to read at work (NSFW), or when anyone under age of 18 is reading over your shoulder. Or if you ARE under aged 18. Thank you.

_His father's voice slid like gravel would along a long, sad road. "_ Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadass'la _." He sounded tired, so damn tired. And the look in his eyes was woodenly prepared. Like he'd known this day would come and was glad to see it finally done._

_Only the father you'll be._

_Torian only thought, "What sort of father would he be, though."_

_His father's head flew up when the blaster bolt finally sounded. The sound pealed out against the silence of the Taris landscape. But Jicoln only sighed. He didn’t scream or yell, not even when the bolt firing compelled the rakghouls to shriek shrilly. Jicoln only spun as he went down, and his body made a heavy thud when it hit the damp soil underfoot._

_What sort of father, he wondered._

Torian's eyes flew wide open. But he only blinked blearily against the pale night-time illumination of the room. He twitched against the bedsheets when he realized he was alone. But the indentation in the pillow next to him was proof enough she laid there at some point in the most recent hours. So he thrust his face into the cushions, inhaling deeply to soothe himself with the brief scent she left behind.

Freshly clean, like the soap she always used. And hot like the blaze of sunlight. She always smelled like the sweetest warmth to him.

He vaguely remembered her leaning over him in the Bad Boy's medical bay. Her fingers ghosted along the lines of pain dotting his face and torso, so that he looked up at her, hissing. She only said his name, though, her dark eyes all warm and cool at the same time as she watched him. He was confused and the room was spinning around him. Why was everything moving in circles? "I stimmed you before we left planet-side, Tor. You would've fallen flat on your face, otherwise. Damn it! I swear, if you weren't such a mess of bruises and broken ribs ... shit, Mako! There's a thin fracture along his jaw, too! ..." He wanted so badly to smooth away the pained look in her eyes … Her eyes. He loved her eyes. He must have said so aloud, too. Because she suddenly hushed him, running her fingers along his fractured jaw gently as she murmured, "Only you would say something like that, when I'm spitting angry at you, Torian."

He wasn't sure he'd managed to say anything in reply, then. Everything just went murky and dark. He slept sometimes. That was better, because whenever he woke his mouth felt dry like cloth. He would call her name, and her face would appear over his head so quickly he knew she was staying close. He told her – probably several times, most likely - "Missed you. Cyare … Ner. Missed you." Then she would fade away again as the medicine worked some more.

Now he lifted his head up, his mind clear and lucid at last. He wondered how long his healing required, actually. It wasn’t hours. Days, at least. If the pile of empty hypoinjectors tossed haphazardly against the small table near the bed were any measure. Torian counted several pain relievers and a good few sleep-inducers, at least. He rolled his shoulders to loosen his muscles from the tight pull of forced inactivity, and worried.

Because it was certain she hadn’t slept while he was drugged and insensate. And that bothered him.

Torian slowly raised himself up, leaning back against both his clenched fists on the cushions of the bed as he scanned the room. His armor was arranged on the stand against the wall, and he could tell it had been methodically cleaned and knitted in preparation for the next fight. Every tear and bump on the surface was edged out and repaired with precise and methodical attention, even. He sighed.

No. His woman hadn’t slept well at all.

At least she wasn't wearing her own armor, Torian thought. It was less likely she would do him real damage if her armor was set on the stand next to his own, anyway, and he smiled at the thought. He knew Kastiel would still be angry, if she spent these days watching his healing among the blankets of their bed. _His_ hunter wouldn’t be anything else. Not after seeing the battle for what it was just as soon as she walked through that door.

Some men might wish their wife could be fooled, rather. But Torian only smiled as he climbed out of the bed and listened to the small noises that were common to the Bad Boy. The soft swish of the processed air through the vents; the steady hum of the engines as the ship plowed its course through the stars; and the angry yells as Gault argued with the monkey-lizard. Torian wondered about the direction they were moving. But just barely. Standing there next to their bed, he was precisely where he’d wanted to be for most of the past two weeks, anyway.

No, Torian was utterly satisfied. Even if his limbs protested the exercises he bent and twisted through until he felt limber and loose enough to pad his way towards the sonic shower. He examined his naked torso as the vibrations hummed against his skin, washing him clean in a steady stream of light and energy. He grunted as he noted the dull, fading bruises that were the only marks left of the time he spent on Hoth.

Gaibriel told him once, about the various ways to heal a man’s broken frame. Only because Torian was that curious, so he asked the captain to tell him. Gaib was amused, "You just want to know my sister better, is all. What makes her good at this." The captain waved his hand over the medical table and all the equipment gathered together on its surface, then. And he hummed, "Kastiel’s better than me when it comes to _surgical_ techniques. I fix the surface; I use my nanites and my droids to keep someone from dying in the immediate. But Kas? She can fix it for good, down to the smallest sliver of bone stuck in a vein. That kind of healing only takes more time, is all."

So now Torian leaned over to prod against the pale yellow bruise against the low rib on his side, and he grunted when he felt no real smidgeon or even a twinge of pain as he rubbed it. His lips curled into a small grin as he appreciated the readiness of his body to meet any challenge, any effort and even immediately. Kastiel healed him well, deliberately and carefully keeping him quiet and still for days to make sure even the bruises were only yellow shadows on his skin now. He was never more grateful for her skill, too.

Because facing his wife wasn't going to be easy, Torian thought, smiling. He moved towards the closet to grab up a pair of pants that he yanked up around his hips, and then he pulled a soft brown shirt over his head.

Torian caught sight of his mother's helmet suddenly, perched atop the curved case where Kastiel kept it. Aily's dark faceplate stared out over the room. It wasn't Kastiel’s only prize. She used Hedaar's helmet more often than Aily's, even. It didn’t matter how often Torian encouraged her to wear his mother’s armored headpiece, either. Because her own honor always reminded him of Aily’s, he said. But Kastiel only shook her head and reached for Hedaar’s every time. So Aily’s helmet stayed on top of Kas’ cabinet.

Seeing it there now, Torian abruptly remembered the dream that was enough to wake him from a drugged sleep. And he knew with a truly brilliant clarity that Jicoln hadn't seen Aily's face before he made the fatal shot that took her life. Until it was too late. Because there was no way his father would've made the shot if he knew who it was behind that faceplate. Jicoln would've died first. " _You’re more like me than you'd like to admit, maybe ... Torian ... my son_." Peace. He'd given his father _peace_ , and Torian knew it right then and finally.

Suddenly, Torian needed to see Kastiel for himself. He needed to see that she wasn’t alone, or hurting, or scared. Not anymore. He needed her to see him, standing upright and firmly strong on his own again. He _needed_ her.

Torian stepped out into the open space of the bay, glancing sideways towards the mess. He could see Gault sitting on the bench against the wall, wagging a long, slender finger towards Kastiel's monkey-lizard and arguing loudly with the little beast, "Keep your damn tail off my sandwich! Oh, I know you're doing it on purpose! Don’t give me that lying innocent look, either. It's utter bullshit!" Skadge was reclining back against the wall just nearby the table, looking bemused as he watched the altercation.

"Why not just kill the rat thing, then?" Skadge shook his meaty head back and forth. The simplemindedness of the question was off-putting, and Torian wondered all over again how the Houk had managed a space on board the Bad Boy. Kastiel didn't tolerate such a total lack of intelligence in anyone very well. Let alone a team member. Gault’s keen wit and humor appealed to her, as did Mako’s bookish intellect. She wouldn’t even like Skadge, he didn’t think.

Gault abruptly leaned his horned head back to laugh aloud, "When you find yourself capable of destroying something our ever-so-skilled bounty hunter considers _hers_ without pissing yourself in utter fear, you let me know, Skadge. You forget, I saw you limping your sad self behind her when she brought Zale in ... She stomped on you, didn't she? Hell, she didn't even fix the bruises, and you were all purple and mottled for days!" The devaronian rolled against the bench seat as he laughed wickedly. He laughed even harder when Skadge’s face reddened with angry rage.

Skadge growled at Gault, "Least it took a real beating to get me to follow her. You probably tumbled after her like a damn panting dog!"

"Oh, I got the scar to prove how much of a trial I was to her - right across my ass, no less! That woman makes damn sure you don't forget she isn't one to fuck around with, believe me." Gault scowled when Quinnie snatched up a piece of meat from the top of his bread then. But he didn’t stop the monkey-lizard from running off with the food, either. He just sniffed, "Only one on this ship who's joining didn't require a trial – well, that would be Torian. Kas actually chased him down to catch him and make him hers."

"That's just cause she likes how he fucks her, is all."

Gault slanted a look towards Skadge, shaking his head. "Are all Houk as dumb as you? Or did someone drop you on your head when you were still a baby? Wait, don't tell me! It was more than once, wasn't it?" Skadge growled loudly all over again, stepping closer with clenched fists as if to confront the devaronian once and for all, "I'm gonna squash you like a bug!"

Torian grumbled as he stepped further into the space, though. Both men stopped quickly when he pointed towards them, "Not on the table! We have to eat there, and your blood would ruin the meal. There’s sparring mats down below." Gault leaned sideways slightly, so he could better see Torian from around Skadge's hulking frame. Then he shot a quick glance towards the alcove on the far side of the room, where the holoterminal was situated, and he grinned evilly. Torian’s mouth quirked as Gault neatly identified where to find Kastiel, and he inclined his head towards the devaronian gratefully. He felt his stomach tighten as he prepared to see her. Although her angry upset would make her particularly pretty, he thought.

Not that he would say so, either. Kastiel despised compliments that focused on her looks or her shape. No matter how often she received them, even. She called them, "Useless pandering. It's usually someone trying to get something from me. Like, maybe I'll let them go if they spit crap about how sweet my ass sways or how milky my skin looks. It's total nerfshit, basically." Torian thought her attitude was very Mandalorian, really. Although he truly did adore the way her hips swayed, too.

Gault trilled suddenly, raising his voice to catch the hunter’s attention, "Torian! It’s about time you woke up. I've missed your cooking, my fine Mandalorian friend. Really, too."

Torian eased around the edge of the doorway, far enough into the bay that he could turn to face the holoterminal. Kastiel had twisted her head to look for him when Gault started his sing-song routine, and now her black hair tumbled against her shoulders. She was dressed as simply as Torian was, with her legs covered in a pair of slim pants and a thin linen shirt that draped across her torso. It was all cream and brown colored cloth he only wanted to pull off her. Torian eyed the upthrust angle of her jaw as she tilted her face upwards when she saw him, imagined nibbling against the soft skin of her throat, there. He felt the swift rush of desire filling him, so that his stomach tightened even more.

 _Ah, Kas, I missed you_ , Torian thought.

But she was working. Her smuggler brother’s image was glittering atop the holoterminal right then and Mako was still arguing with Gaibriel, muttering, "I still don't know why the two of you are so certain we can trust him. He’s an Imperial agent! He could have any number of reasons for telling us something like this! It’s not the first time the Empire tried to keep the clans off-balance and fighting among themselves."

Gaibriel scoffed aloud, though. His image glimmered almost sheer white against the pale yellow light of the Bad Boy's interior, “Oh, no, Mako. Don't fool yourself. If Khyriel says someone’s out to hurt one of us, the threat's real enough." Gaib crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his weight onto one straight male hip as he eyed them, "Hey! He just likes us that much. I think it's my cute adorable looks, really. But Kas has the same eyes as our father, too. That might have something to do with it."

Mako harrumphed, "You guys think too highly of the fact you all have the same father, maybe."

Kastiel had turned all the way around until her back was facing the holoterminal. Her dark eyes glittered as Torian moved even closer, so that he was standing straightly tall just inside the circle of the holoterminal's transmission. Gaibriel frowned towards him, actually. Especially when Kastiel muttered sideways towards Mako, her voice tense and frigid, "Gaib’s right. Although not about his good looks … But Khyriel's protection is real enough, Mako. If he knew who the hunter was, he would have already killed him, in fact."

Mako sighed, then. Because Kastiel remained intent on Torian’s soft approach and the amused twist of his mouth. Kas even narrowed her eyes dangerously as she watched him. Gaib started muttering curiously, “Erhm ... Did Torian step in something nasty? You know I can’t smell through the holotransmission, right? Hey!”

Mako started begging her, "Hells, Kas. You just fixed him! And I'm not good enough at cooking for him to be out another day or two. Please?" But Torian didn’t appear even vaguely worried. He stood patiently waiting and smiling lightly as Kastiel started to growlingly stalk forward.

For the smallest moment, Torian thought of meeting her strong enough to tumble them both to the ground. Just so he could feel her body under his own, there. But then he noticed the shadows darkening the pale skin under her eyes, until her implants looked like white metal against her face. He thought of how much the fear must have rode her, until she couldn't sleep or even to barely eat for the days it took to bring him back.

So Torian only stood there, and he didn’t say anything. He just braced himself, lifting his chin as Mako gave one last warbling cry, "Kas, no! Knock it off!" But Kastiel's fist was already flying. She hit Torian straight on the chin with solid force. It was a neat, vivid blow designed to send real pain along every one of his face's nerves. He could tell she held back from doing anything that really damaged the just healed part of his lower face, though, and he felt like laughing over the care she used.

Instead, Torian huffed as his head snapped backwards. But he quickly pulled his gaze back up to meet her glaring eyes. Kastiel stood there, her slender form trembling with agitation and angry upset. She jabbed a finger into his chest, "You let them take you! Let them! Don't you _ever_ do that again!"

Torian shook his blonde head slowly, "But it isn’t necessary now, is it? Every challenge you overcome makes you stronger. And better. Now you understand, that no one can take someone away from you." He eased himself closer to her, until his chest brushed against the hard points of her nipples and he was able to murmur against her temple as he leaned his head down. He nuzzled her ear with his chin, breathing softly, "I hated it, too, _cyare_. Every single second of it. I knew you were scared."

Kastiel turned her head and stared over at the wall in a blatant show of ignoring him. Torian didn't take offense. He understood how hard she was fighting to keep her feelings contained. To keep from crying, maybe. Or to keep from yelling and railing against him, or beating on him some more, even. So Torian smiled. He reached out to grab her and pull her so close to him there wasn't a single bit of space dividing them anymore. Until every bit of her front was pressed solidly against his own and she could feel the hard press of his erection against her stomach.

She hissed, jerking her gaze up to meet his own. Torian chuckled as he took in the furious look snapping at him from her dark brown eyes, and he told her, “You look like a ferocious _nexu_ cat.” She actually toed him in the shin then. Kastiel snarled at him through her clenched teeth, "If you think I'm going to let you touch me right now ..."

Torian suddenly nipped her lower lip, startling her into gasping so that her lips fell open. He darted forward to slide his tongue inside her mouth, then. He turned his head just enough to slant his own mouth against hers, taking advantage of her confusion and the hesitant pleasure she wasn't able to stop. Above their heads, Gaibriel was still muttering, and Kastiel frowned against the press of Torian's mouth, hard-pressed to ignore the others nearby.

Gaib was complaining, "Is it common for Mandalorian women to beat on their husbands, then? I knew that's why Akaavi said we should get married, hah!"

Torian grunted before Kastiel could turn away to address Gaibriel's interruption. He grabbed Kas just under the curves of her buttocks and pulled her more firmly against his lower abdomen. He rubbed her gently into his warm center. Kas gasped loudly, clenching her fingers against Torian's shoulders as he smiled at her and murmured Mando'a words the others couldn't understand, " _Me'copaani_? _Ni_? _Ke'hiibi_!" She felt herself growing hot, the wash of moisture between her legs assuring her own readiness and exposing her willingness. And never mind the fading upset she’d felt. Because she _did_ want him, damn it!

Kastiel buried her face against Torian's neck, just under his ear. She licked the warm skin there, moaning lightly with invitation. That's when he picked her up, finally. Torian spun around, carrying Kastiel with him as he moved quickly back down the hallway towards their quarters. Gault yelled towards their backs, "Torian, no! ... Damn it! That means Mako has to cook again!"

Torian barely waited long enough for the door of their quarters to close behind them. He just pushed her up against the wall as soon as he heard the click. He was breathing roughly as he pulled and yanked at her clothes now, rocking his groin into the cradle of her own. He could feel the gathering heat between her legs even through the cloth, heard her breathing roughly against his throat. Torian licked the line of her neck, running his tongue down along the curve until he reached the curve of her shoulder where fabric still impeded him.

He yanked quickly on the ties holding her shirt in place, pulling against the strings until the fabric gaped and fell back over her slim shoulders and he could trail his tongue further along her skin. Kastiel jerked herself upright then, arching her back as she held onto him. The movement thrust her breasts higher, as her shirt slithered and slid down to pool over the feminine curve of her hips.

Torian murmured approvingly as her breasts were bared, the nipples puckered temptingly. He leaned his head down, gripping one of her nipples between the slow drag of his tongue and mouth. He suckled her gently hard, pressing the nub against the roof of his mouth and rubbing it with his tongue. Kastiel gasped loudly, her head bent back onto the wall as she looked at the ceiling, "Clothes ... off. I need you! Torian!"

" _Gar serim_!" He switched to her other breast, sucking her hard enough this time that he left blatant marks against the pale pink circling her nipple. Such small and perfect bruises to display his possessive motions. His hands worked frantically between them, twisting in the opening of her pants and pushing all of the fabric from her hips until it fluttered down onto the floor.

Torian raised his arms suddenly, leaving her room enough to push his shirt up along his sides until she could yank it over his head. She flung the shirt away and then dropped her hands down. But her fingers tangled with his own over the fastening of his pants. He brushed her hands away, "I'll do it, Kas ... just hold onto me!" Torian spun them both, holding her against him as he moved across the room towards the bed. Then he pushed her backwards, watching her tumble down naked into the plush cushions. Until her body was sprawled in a long, pale length along the center of the bed and she looked up at him from under the dark fall of her hair, whimpering needfully.

She looked soft and curvy and pretty. There was nothing covering her, no hard iron shielding her, nothing at all. He felt a wash of sudden protectiveness, a desire to cover her and keep her from anything or anyone who’d try to hurt her. It was a purely masculine thrill, and it was utterly, intensely primal. Torian wanted to put every part of his body on every part of hers. Now.

Torian pursed his lips. He reached down and practically ripped against the fastening of his pants so that he could push the offending material out of his way. So that he wasn’t separated from her by anything. Then Torian grabbed both her ankles, pulling her legs apart so he could move between them. So he could reach her center and see her most tender parts.

Kastiel jerked herself upward when she felt him press his mouth against her mound, just above her moist femininity. She leaned against her elbows as she looked down to see his head bent over as he kneeled between her bent legs. She breathed out a surprised huff, "Tor ...? What ...?" He hushed her softly, wondering for a single, wild moment why he’d waited so long to show her this kind of pleasure. Except that he couldn't normally last long enough, he admitted to himself. The only thing that salved his pride every time he moved so quick to possess her was how responsive she was to his every touch or look, how easily she came undone underneath him. But it rarely changed, how often Torian moved so quick to touch her, and be inside her, to feel her reaching her climax while he was buried deep inside her wet warmth.

But this? This was so much different. He needed to comfort her so much tenderly, to touch her more intimately than he ever had before. To soothe his own fear for her safety, too. It was the closest they could be right then, and he wanted it. Torian looked down to where her legs were quivering open, "Wider, Kas. Hold yourself open wide. I want to reach every part of you right now."

He slanted a look up towards her face, his eyes flaming like brightly gleaming honey. She moaned at the look he gave her, all fiery and fierce with intention. Torian pressed a finger against the inside of her knee, watching her even as he gently pushed against her knee, encouraging her. Kastiel whimpered again, moving her feet to make more room for him between her legs and he looked down at her, watching. Until the feminine folds between her legs opened right in front of him, like some precious pink confection flowering wetly under his burning gaze.

Torian groaned as he watched and he lowered his head until he was able to nuzzle against the swelling button of her pretty clit. Kastiel jumped when she felt the first swipe of his tongue against her, and she bit her tongue harshly when he did it again. Then Torian settled himself against the side of the bed, kneeling on the floor as he licked solidly into her flesh. She slowly, steadily dissolved under the pleasure he gave her. He listened to her, moving his tongue through the sweetness she made for him and thrilling to know how close she was. She hiccupped to keep from screaming, tossing her head side to side as the blissful sensations consumed her.

He groaned aloud, "You taste so good. So damned sweet."

"That's ...! Torian! ... Oh! Gods, don't stop!" Kas flung herself back until she was flat against the bed again and she threw her arms wide, scrabbling against the blankets that covered the bed for something to hold onto. He grabbed her along her upper thighs, holding her in place as he kept his mouth moving over her sex. Her senses blared madly. She couldn't help bucking her hips closer to his mouth, pressing him where she wanted his touch the most. Torian didn’t articulate a response, but he moved his tongue down, tweaking the sensitive folds of her sex before dipping his tongue inside her entrance. Kas arched her back as she shouted his name then, “Torian!”

Torian moved fast, sliding up to grip her clit between his lips so he could suckle her, lapping wildly against the very center of her swelling button with the tip of his tongue until she came, came. Kas yelled a bevy of words in multiple languages, "Yes, yes! Gods! _Jate_! _Ori'jate_!" She quivered and shook against the cushions of the bed, trembling through the throes of her orgasm. Torian held still, enjoying the pulse of her clit against his tongue. But he didn't move except to gently, gently stroke her against the inside of his lip, soothing her as she slowly, slowly eased back from the intense pleasure. Only then did he softly release her, and he hummed a small sound as he pressed his temple against the smooth curve of her inner thigh.

Then he moved, pushing her further back into the center of the bed so he could kneel up on the bed between her spread legs again. He reached down between them both to grip himself in one hand, pulled on his hard length as he pressed himself even closer. Torian growled softly, sliding into place until his belly settled warmly over hers and her moist opening was petal-soft against the head of his erection.

Torian set the palm of his hand along the side of Kastiel's head, up against the cushions of the bed. Kas' eyes flew open when she felt him pushing inside, and she tightened her thighs against his hips as he slid deeper. She looked up at him, bit her puffed lower lip when she saw he was watching her, his golden eyes shining as he edged inside even further. Kastiel moaned, reaching up to tweak his nipples and pull against them gently before sliding her palms up over his shoulders. She held onto him as she finally admitted, "I missed you, too. So much, Torian. _Ner_ _riduur_. _Ner_. I love you."

He groaned and his eyes closed as he heard her forgive him. Torian tossed his head back as he started thrusting, pushing himself into her again and again. He moved hard and fast inside her, because she was already so sensitive, the soft tissues inside her swollen and trembling with every motion he made. He knew it wouldn’t take much before she was thrown into another orgasm, and he wanted to give her that much. He wanted to feel her coming all around him before he reached his own climax.

He wanted to show her how close they could be. Torian slowed, sliding his abdomen over her soft clit, back and forth. Then he returned to the pushing rhythm of his thrusts, in and out again. Torian reared up, straight up to balance himself before reaching down to grab Kastiel behind both thighs. He pulled her harder against him, until her lower back was actually suspended over the bed. And then Torian moved hard, harder, harder. He thrust against her until the bed under them shook and bounced from the motion.

Kastiel was keening when she came again. She shouted his name over and over as the pleasure washed over her, trembling through her stomach and down the length of her legs. Until she was holding onto him so tightly she thought she'd leave new bruises to replace the ones she healed. Torian grunted then. He groaned aloud as he bent over her, his hips canting back and forth as his climax pulsed deeply inside of her. She felt it, felt him coming, and she smiled with satisfaction that she'd pleased him, too. She could hear him gasping, "Kas ... _Ner_ Kastiel. _Ner cyare_! _Kar'taylir darasuum_... _darasuum_."

He murmured the words against her collarbone, felt the sweat sliding down from his forehead onto her skin. He blew several breaths against her shoulder just to watch her skin react, how the pale flesh of her shoulder pebbled in sensitive response. Torian grabbed her close as he rolled over onto his back, settling her against his chest as they both slowly panted. He glanced down, slowly pushing her hair back from her face so he could see her.

Torian smiled when he saw she'd already fallen asleep, comfortable and safe for the first time in days. He wrapped her closer, pulling the blankets up to cover them both as he held her. Just ... held her.

* * *

"Eventually this holoterminal will stop blinking like one of those insane kiosks on Nar Shaddaa ..." Mako leaned over the buttons, pressing to quiet the trilling message before it could wake anyone else on the ship. She considered the image slowly taking shape against the surface, and then clapped her gaping jaw shut when she recognized the reptilian figure. But she still blinked at him owlishly, "Qyzen? Seriously?" She glanced past him, "Where are you?"

The trandoshan shimmered there in place, warbling at her in that strange lilt his people were renowned for, "I’ve found a resting place at the Jedi Temple. I follow the Scorekeeper's Herald, now, little Mako. And he calls this place home." Mako must have looked confused, actually. Because Qyzen didn't wait for her to ask the next question, "He is not like so many Jedi. He is different … Unique?"

Mako shook her head, scoffing, "I’ve never known Jedi to tolerate a real hunter, Qyzen. Not even the unique ones."

Qyzen only shrugged, "He is different, like I said. But I have heard of Braden's destruction. I sorrow for you." Mako nodded over the polite gesture, smiling lightly even as she wondered what Qyzen wanted. She certainly didn’t trust anyone following along behind a Jedi right now. Even if he was one of the few lizards Braden had counted as a friend. Hells, Braden even tried getting Qyzen to join the team before heading to Hutta. Although in hindsight, it was good for Qyzen that he turned down the offer, actually.

Still … The Jedi were seriously looking for Kastiel right now. So this little bit of communication from someone serving the Jedi reeked worst than an akk dog in a hutt’s arena, damn it.

Mako glanced over her shoulder, looking down the hallway where Torian carried Kas earlier. Mako immersed herself into the holonet to avoid catching light of the reunion that the pair was enjoying down there. But eventually even they were quiet as the ship entered the later hours of the night cycle, until not even a murmur could be heard coming from the hunter's quarters. Mako mentally crossed her fingers that Torian had managed to get Kas to sleep at last. She certainly didn’t want to have to wake Kastiel from the much-needed rest, either.

Mako started to ask Qyzen what he wanted or needed. But the trandoshan suddenly glanced away, like he was looking towards someone standing off to the side. He said, "This is the soft thing I told you of, Herald ... She can provide the information we need to find the traitorous _T'doshok_ we hunt."

Mako grumbled sourly, "I'm not going to help you do squat if you call me a soft thing again, Qyzen ... I remember what that means, y'know." She looked at the newcomer quizzically when he finally stepped into the light of the holoterminal, and she frowned. He was almost as tiny as Mako herself, with seemingly blind eyes obscured behind a curving metallic mask. Mako had seen a few miraluka over the years, but they always seemed just the slightest bit creepy to her. Something about being able to see when they didn't even have _eyes_ , anyway ... Now she shifted her slender frame back and forth as she murmured towards him, "You don't look old enough to be anyone's Herald. Are you even old enough to be a Jedi?"

Brye smiled slowly, "My body doesn't seem inclined to grow in line with my age, no. I've recently reached the age of eighteen, though. Is that old enough, do you think?"

"Oh, no! I'm the last one to argue age with anyone! Kas took me off Hutta right after Braden was killed. I was almost done being seventeen at the time. You have no idea how many people told her to leave me behind, hah!" Mako shrugged delightedly, "Don't let her fool you, either. She wouldn't have left me anywhere."

Brye canted his head, considering her carefully. Judging her, maybe. And he spoke using that quiet, even tone Jedi seemed to use like it was a required rule. Mako almost laughed as she wondered if they taught their apprentices such a thing in a fancy classroom, somewhere. Brye only asked her curiously, though, "Because of your value as a slicer?"

Mako did laugh then, her braids flying behind her head as she leaned her head back. "Well _that_ makes me valuable enough your Jedi self came looking for my help, huh? But no. Kas could've won that Hunt without me if she'd had to. Believe me, she's that damn good at what she does."

"At killing?"

Mako looked back at him, serious when she scowled, "At _winning_. She defeats her opponents, rather." Brye considered her for a long moment, carefully selecting his words, "She’s hunting now, I believe." Mako didn't respond to his statement this time. Why repeat the obvious, after all? She just looked back at the trandoshan, rather, "So did you really need my help, Qyzen? Or was this some polite call to say hello?” Qyzen hissed at her with mock derision. But Mako only laughed, “Yea, yea. I do owe you a good turn. You kept that rancor claw, right? Damn thing tried to stomp on me."

"Braden should not have followed me. You would not have been in danger if he had stayed away," Qyzen shook his head. Mako gainfully kept herself from laughing over his expression. She recalled he yelled at them angrily after killing the huge creature that was trying to squish Mako as she flitted back and forth on the ground under its feet. At the time, Braden tried yelling back at him, mainly when Qyzen insisted they made a "hatchling mistake, as bad as the Mandalorians.” But the trandoshan only hissed more angry sounds and stalked over to cut a claw off the rancor’s dead, looming foot.

Now Mako could barely keep herself from laughing at him. Qyzen must have noted the humor dancing in her brown eyes, because he leaned forward like he was going to argue with her some more. Or maybe he would have explained what service he was looking for, perhaps. But Mako wasn't so lucky, because Qyzen was suddenly interrupted all over again. Damn it.

Mako gaped at Camiel when she stepped up to stand next to Brye. The Knight's voice was light, like music notes dancing over water maybe. She didn't speak so gently as the smaller Jedi with the mask where his eyes should be, at least. But Camiel's eyes were as brown and doe-eyed as her both her sisters’ and Mako couldn’t help but goggle at her as Camiel insisted, "I wish to hear more about the hunter, first."

Mako chewed on her lip for a while, studying the Jedi and wondering all over again about intentions and purposes. But finally, she only shrugged, “I’m just as curious to know what you want to hear about her, actually. I’ll say this, though …” Mako leaned close enough to the terminal she was able to tap the screen, “She’s most definitely your sister.”

Camiel inhaled slowly. Then she wondered slowly, “I didn’t have the chance to see what she looked like when we encountered each other on Hoth. Her face was covered by a helmet. She was hurt, though. Is she well now?” Mako smiled so softly, to hear that the first thing the Jedi wanted to know was that her sister was safe and well. So much like Kastiel, too.

“That was an ice shard. It melted, of course. Torian would’ve died himself before losing her, at least.” Mako shrugged negligently, “Probably best he had to concentrate on getting her to a healing droid, though. He would’ve killed the Imperials who made the shot, otherwise.”

Now Camiel’s eyes narrowed sharply, “And that would’ve caused trouble, I assume. Because of Kastiel’s loyalty to the Empire?”

Mako laughed aloud, “They’re Mandalorians – they’d spit on the Republic and the Empire both, if they were paid enough. No, Jedi … they’re loyal to _each other_.” Then Mako’s lips flattened into a thin line as she crossed her arms across her chest and glared, “And they’ll fucking destroy anyone who tries to hurt you. You’re likely the luckiest Jedi in the whole blasted Order … you’ve got the Mandalore’s own girl watching over your damned butt.”

Then Mako rolled her eyes, sighing, “Now, can one of you explain what the hell you want from me tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mandoa translations, of course. Because you all deserve to know what they were saying:
> 
> Me'copaani? - What do you want?  
> Ni? - Me?  
> Ke'hiibi - Take it.  
> Gar serim - That's it.  
> Jate - Good  
> Ori'jate - So good.  
> Ner - Mine  
> Ner cyare - My beloved  
> Kar'taylir darasuum - love (romantic)  
> Darasuum - Forever


	98. The Lump and the Rat

Skadge lumbered.

No one would call it walking, anyway. Not when his gait was so lumpy and uneven. Skadge certainly didn’t try pretending he was graceful, either. To him, locomotion was nothing more than a means of getting from one point over to another point. It wasn’t about looking fucking pretty as you were going along, he’d growl.

Still, even Skadge admitted a man didn't just stomp his way into a hutt's so-called palace. At least you didn’t go through the damned front door, he gruffly agreed when the issue was tossed in his face. Nope, to get at a hutt required some … finangling. And hey, what kind of word was finangling, he snarled at the devaronian. But he really didn’t mind stuffing a rat down the hole, no.

Which is precisely why he was lumbering along behind Kastiel's little pet jawa, now. Because if anyone deserved to meet Kas’ blasted rat, it was the fucking worm that screwed him over so that he ended up on damned Belsavis. The slug deserved it!

Skadge thought every damned Hutt worm deserved to be stomped into goo, actually. He was only surprised to learn Kastiel shared his sentiment about the hutts. But Skadge wasn't picky and hated every hutt, too. But even as he happily hated the entire lot of grossly fat huts, he really, really hated this one. This hutt took the cake and then he gorged on it! Fat slug! Skadge was going to make sure he _choked_ on it today, damn it! Party’s over, Nemro!

Actually, Skadge's list of "people that needed killing" was getting overly long. He might consider crossing some of the names off the list, except he thought killing was really fun. But some of those people had pretty impressive levels of back-up. Or they were on someone else’s list of “people that need protecting”. "Fucking Barrows," Skadge muttered. How could one man be stupid lucky enough to just skate his damned way into the watchful outlook of the one fucking bounty hunter who could kick Skadge's own fat butt? Fuck!

But since Kastiel proved herself that much a badass, he'd leave Barrows alone. For a while. Okay, a _long_ while. He really didn’t like waiting at all. But what was it those stupid humans liked to say about being patient …? Skadge scowled as he tried thinking and he felt his head start to hurt.

Then he snorted and snarled, just as Blizz started tittering some more of those strange little noises he liked making. Skadge stumbled to a halt before he bowled right over the jawa, as Blizz quickly knelt down in front of a control panel that somehow kept blinking brightly even though it was outside in Hutta’s sour-smelling air.

_Stupid jawa_ , Skadge thought. If the thing wasn't so damned good at what it did, he'd punt it across the length of the open field. Skadge looked, judging how far he might be able to make Blizz fly given the chance. He grunted when he spied one of those open ditches a good fifteen yards down from where they'd stopped. There was a good target to aim for, he thought. It was probably the ditch that carried away the water running out of the filthy grate they were trying to break into, actually.

For a heartbeat, Skadge actually considered if the fun of watching Blizz’ little arms flailing violently from pain and panic as he went sailing through the air would be worth it. Then Blizz grunted softly; it was a happy, little sound as he found the connections between the wires he was yanking and pulling that were supposed to get the grate open.

That was sound enough to divert Skadge's attention. But now he thought about punting the jawa _into_ the sludgy tunnel past the grate … Skadge slowly rubbed a thick meaty finger along his jaw until he was very nearly poking his chin in a steady rhythm. The habit was old, coming from some far-off barely-remembered time when his jaw wasn't half so damn big as it was now. Back when he didn't really know how to piss standing up, Skadge snorted to himself. When he still had a place of his own and maybe even a home.

His head was hurting again. Skadge hunkered down, bending his head as he followed the little rodent into the smelly length of a tunnel. Hey, kicking the thing would probably result in another broken jaw, he reminded himself. Kastiel liked the stupid jawa, after all. That girl liked too many stupid things, really.

But the jawa was useful enough, at least. Blizz was able to get him into the hutt's stronghold, hah! If only everyone on the bounty hunter's ship could be put to uses like this one … Skadge was still bothered over having to freeze his damn balls off on stupid Hoth over a silly man child who stupidly got himself caught. He was certain what Kastiel thought of _that_ one’s uses, though. Considering her caterwauling nonsense over the past few days that intermittently drifted down from those quarters he'd dragged her off to, at least. Stupid humans!

Skadge stopped when the Jawa did. He watched the small creature as it bent to look around the edge of the wall, where it teed into another length of tunnel. Skadge grumbled as he looked down towards his feet, which were slowly sinking into something soft, smelly, and brown-looking, "Get a move on, you fucking rat. Before this shit swallows me whole."

Blizz turned his hooded head, looking down to examine the filth slowly consuming Skadge's big feet. He twittered, "How can you tell it's shit? Same color as rest of you, isn’t it?"

Skadge glared over at Blizz, the low rumble of his discontent welling up from low and deep in his yawning chest. He growled, "Don't make me regret not kicking you back there when I had the chance, you little fucker."

Blizz made another small noise. Lucky little rat, because by the time Skadge realized Blizz had just fucking laughed at him, the stupid creep of a rodent had slunk right around the corner into the next tunnel. Skadge grumbled angrily as he followed the Jawa, "You have no idea how lucky you are, rat. The fact I'd probably get a blaster bolt to my face – hell, a whole bunch of fucking blaster bolts to my face! – is the only thing that keeps me from stomping all over your damn little self. I could turn you into fucking goo … hell, I'd have fun doin' it, too!"

Blizz utterly ignored Skadge's continued muttered threats. Partly because that was pretty much the limit of Skadge’s oral vocabulary, was a litany of threats. What was one more? Or a dozen, even? Skadge would never actually _do_ any of it, Blizz silently chuckled. The Boss would break him into the littlest pieces if he even tried!

No, Blizz only concentrated on navigating through the ugly tunnels slathered with Hutt waste as they moved carefully along the way, looking for the opening into the palace that would allow Skadge to reach his target. Blizz knew Skadge intended to kill the Hutt that lived there, but he didn't care overmuch. Not about saving the Hutt, at least. And only slightly what happened to Skadge if he failed, too.

But the only reason Blizz was creeping along through the dark, smelly sewers under a Hutt’s palace was because Kastiel started laughing when Skadge explained who he wanted to kill. And that made Skadge glower angrily at her, too, "Ya think I can't kill 'im?"

Kas only snorted another laughing sound, "Shut up. I'm rather enjoying the thought of you battering against Nemro's big fat squishiness. Don’t ruin it fishing for compliments I’d never mean."

Skadge’s beady eyes narrowed even more and he grunted unhappily, "Figures you'd know the piece of shit worm."

"Yea, because it's so incredible to think I've done business with him. Although you should avoid thinking, too. It might hurt using an organ you're so unaccustomed to utilizing in any real fashion." Kastiel ignored Gault's muffled amusement from nearby. That, and Skadge's bitter scowl, too. Only because she was doing precisely what she'd warned Skadge to avoid doing and thinking the thing through. She bit the side of her lip gently, thoughtful, "Hey, Nem'ro's sick as one of those Akk dogs he tried feeding me to once upon a time. He even put a call out for doctoring. If it’s killing him you want to do, now’s your best chance."

Blizz tugged the leathered edge of her tunic as she leaned her weight onto one leg there in the cargo hold next to the work bench, curiously, "Hutt worm made Boss feed Akk dogs?"

Kastiel only shook her dark head, chuckling, "Nemro probably would've been happy enough to see me chomped into pieces by the dogs, really. But I ended up tossing the bits and pieces of his damned pets right there on the floor of his prettified throne room, rather. Which was more fun than giving him the heads I hunted down for him, believe me." She twisted her lips into a thoughtful frown, "Still not sure he considered that an insult or a justification, actually. It’s so hard to tell with a Hutt."

The Jawa became agitated and started jumping up and down fitfully, insisting, "It’s a bad worm – bad! If the big lump want to break the worm, let him."

"Who are you calling a lump, you damned rat?" Skadge whirled around as much as he was able with that huge lumpy frame of his. Kastiel didn't really hide her amusement, either. Although the boot she thudded against the lumpy curve of Skadge's big ass only barely counted as a laughing rejoinder. Hey, it didn't even knock him over, right?

"Leave him alone. If I were you, in fact, I'd figure out a way to convince him to help get you into Nemro's place. Because I highly doubt the Hutt will let you idly stroll right through the front door so you can kill him." Kastiel spun around, then. She just left him there with the stupid Jawa so she could check on that dumbass husband of hers, who lazed away in a drugged haze during the several days after they picked him up on Hoth.

Still. She was right enough about the Jawa. Blizz was good at navigating a path through the sewers towards the rooms where Nemro lounged in all his fleshy Hutt grossness. Skadge thought that was Kastiel’s real talent, actually. She always managed to gather the best and strongest people around her.

Like, the way her Mandalorian scaled that cable during the fight on Hoth. The memory made Skadge nervous just thinking about it. Torian Cadera skimmed that line as swiftly fast as he was whipping some cream down in the mess, and never mind the busted ribs poking away at his innards or the blood running from his broken face. Damn waste of his own frozen balls, Skadge thought. Because it would've been so much better to lose a threat like Torian back there on that frigid world.

But Kastiel never doubted him, not for even a second. She stood there, solidly certain, while Torian skewered that damn human like a fucking fish on a big wide hook, and she never blinked over the way he stood there, all black and blue with broken bones and bruises galore. Kastiel knew good and well what kind of broken he was, too. Her doctoring skill was potent enough Torian never could’ve hidden it from her. No, a man like that wasn't someone you fucked around with, Skadge figured. Not when he didn't stay down even after you beat the ever-living shit out of him.

At least he didn’t try taking on Kastiel when Torian was nearby. Skadge was pretty sure he would’ve ended up with far more than a broken jaw and some bruises if Torian was there. Skadge didn’t even like imagining it, actually. Torian didn’t tolerate threats to his woman, and Skadge saw it in the burning look in those Mandalorian eyes when he gutted the Geno-Haradan assassin.

Yep, Torian would’ve ripped Skadge’s throat out.

Not that he'd ever admit to either of them how much they scared the piss out of him, either. There were some things you just didn't admit to, and whatever it was you were afraid of – even if they really were just a pair of puny-assed humans – well then ... Your fears were things you kept squirreled way, way, way out of sight. So Skadge kept going with the loud rants and outrageous threats. Because it was damn important that they think he wasn't afraid. Even if he _was_.

Blizz stopped suddenly, sniffing loudly. Skadge stopped, too. He looked down over the slight shape of the Jawa in the dark tunnel in front of him.

Hell, Blizz only barely stood higher than Skadge's knee. Punting him wasn't necessary. Skadge only had to raise his big boot and he could literally squash Blizz right then and there. So he stood there, happily contemplating the sour sound Blizz’ body would make if he did it. He felt a bit of drool gathering at the corner of his lip.

But Blizz was busily searching all around him, looking until he finally trilled a minor bit of happy noise. He pointed upwards, "There. Hole’s even big Skadge can fit through it." Blizz turned his head to regard Skadge oh-so-slowly. "… _maybe_ Skadge can fit."

Skadge scowled down at him bitterly, wiping the drool off from his mouth. But then he leaned his head back to gauge the opening that Blizz found. There was a pitifully brief metal grate covering what looked like a gaping maw of a hole that lead right up and into the fortress of that blasted Hutt! Damn! How’d the ferret of a Jawa even find the thing?

It looked like something big and mean and clawed had made the furrow, actually. The edges were too broken and uneven, and sharply in some places. Something used great big hands to rip its way out of the place. Skadge grunted, “Looks like one of Nemro’s beasties didn’t like being cooped up. Good for us. And stupid as shit for them, since they didn’t close up the fucking hole.” Dumb Hutts never thought past the next bit of food they crammed down their big faces.

Skadge reached down and plucked Blizz off the muck-ridden floor. He lifted him into the air. The Jawa made a funny sound then, something annoyingly gleeful, "Wheee!" Skadge muttered sourly, telling him to shut up. But he still raised the Jawa as high up as he could. Until Blizz was looking through the grating that covered the hole towards the hallway on its other side. "Dark. Why no lights? Stupid guards …" Blizz kept grousing like the little rat he was as he worked the metal edge of the covering loose from the wall.

Skadge only braced himself against the floor, holding the damn rodent up in the air as it went about the work necessary to get him up and inside. He sighed as he glanced around, idly kicking his feet against the nearby wall to get drying clumps of shit to drop down off his boots and otherwise ignored Blizz.

Figures, that he'd be crawling through Hutt shit while Kastiel visited Kaas City with that absurd little cyborg of hers. He didn’t think any Imperials let shit percolate near their cities. Although they probably used enslaved Houks and the like to get the stuff moved away from their pretty buildings, too. At least, that’s what Kastiel told him, "Only Houks I ever saw on Dromund Kaas were hard-used creatures. Most were left twisted and degraded by the Sith who toy with such magics. Most often, you couldn’t really recognize they were once Houks." But then she shrugged, “Hey, it’s not like I’m going there for a damned pleasure trip, Skadge. This is business."

Skadge still sneered at her, though. He refused to admit her meandering refrain made him shudder. Only a little bit, damn it. Skadge argued mulishly, "It’s more comfortable than Nal-fucking-Hutta, hunter."

"No, it's not. The threats are easier to see coming at you on Hutta, anyway. It’s not so dark. And it doesn't rain as much, either." Kastiel leaned back on the balls of her feet then, and crossed her arms over her chest. Skadge didn’t tell her how ugly she was, though. Not that he was scared of her, damn it! Or that blasted male of hers, either, what with his zapping electrostaff he could use to cold-cock a blasted rancor with, if he wanted. Shit, Torian would _spit_ on the ashes of the corpse after it was fried, too.

Skadge wasn’t afraid of any of ‘em! Not one! He could stomp the shit out of every single stupid … well, every one of _them_ on the Bad Boy!

But it was Gault who warned Skadge: “Houks are known for being somewhat stubborn, my great, big lumpy friend. But take it from me – Kastiel has a holding cell down in the cargo section for the targets she plans on keeping alive. You say something stupid about her face, and you’ll not reach that box. I promise you.” Hell, the devaronian even seemed _serious_ when he made the threat, too. Gault leaned forward far enough while he was talking, that Skadge could make out the small bumps on the edge of bladed nose as he went about it.

Skadge wasn’t certain what made Kastiel so damned appealing, though. Her skin was pink-like, so he could make out the thin green lines of her veins just under the surface. It also made her eyes look like big dirt-colored holes in her face, too. And then she was so blasted puny, with stick-thin limbs he could snap if he grabbed her hard enough. Not that he was ever able to grab her before she beat his face to a black and blue mess, either.

But other males – especially human males – seemed to find Kastiel attractive enough. Skadge couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, even after watching them pant after her like hungry akk dogs. And he didn’t _think_ about asking Torian. Torian watched Skadge like a predator eyed a pint-sized bit of vermin, actually. Hell, the only time he ever saw Torian pop a smile towards Skadge was when Gault guffawed over the story of Kastiel breaking his big jaw.

But Gault laughed over his befuddled sneer when he considered the bounty hunter’s features, all the same. Gault told him, chuckling, “It’s mostly her _shape_. I’ve thought that some divine being likely crafted Kastiel’s form; because it’s damned flawless. A nice heart-shaped bottom topped by the most roundly perfect …” Gault broke off when he noticed Mako looking at them from across the bay, though. He coughed several times. Then he pointed towards the ceiling, “Hey! We need some new lights over the table, here. And why’re all the lights on this ship yellow-tinted, huh ...?”

Eventually Skadge realized it was more … well, people _watched_ Kastiel. They listened to her, even waited for her to decide before they did. There was something about her, some energy, maybe. It wasn’t necessarily her looks, so much as it was just … _her_. Gault snickered at him, “You know her sisters are Force-users, right? It’s like the magic just brushed the surface of her and left behind a residue you can’t quite make out. So you have to stop and _look_ at her. For a while, too.”

It never stopped Skadge from arguing with Kastiel, though. Not even when he knew that whatever was sending Kas to Dromund Kaas was probably more dangerous a business than taking on a Hutt in his palace would ever be, too. Hey, he needed to keep their dealings unpleasant enough, that she didn’t forget how dangerous Skadge was, damn it! So he growled at her, "Rain's dirtier on Hutta, though." From behind Kastiel, Mako breathed out another impatient sigh and rolled her eyes. Again.

Skadge glared at her over Kastiel’s shoulder, wondering why she was such a squirming mess all of a sudden. Usually Mako wasn't so mind-boggling annoying as the Jawa. Mostly because she ignored Skadge. Although her regular communications with that flunky lover of hers were sappily gross. He actually gagged in disgust after accidently overhearing one of the sot's messages to her, too.

That little bastard sending smooching sounds to her was Corso Riggs! Corso Fucking Riggs, who served the same stupid-assed smuggler captain who left Skadge locked up back on Coruscant! Argh!

Damn him! Gaibriel Duncan really did laugh wildly when he recognized Skadge across a holotransmission one day: “I promised you I’d see you out of there, right? Isn’t life completely funny like that?” Skadge would’ve bashed in the holoterminal right then and there, except Kastiel promised she would break _both_ his arms if he damaged the thing. He almost - almost! - took a swing at Kastiel, then.

Except then Gaib’s eyes turned hard and cold, like two pieces of jaded blue crystals set into his face. And he didn’t laugh anymore, either. He only stared at Skadge across the transmission and that damn toothpick stuck between his lips just froze in place. Holoimage or not, Skadge suddenly felt like he was being sized up for a blasted box you shoved down deep into the dirt of some lost world, and he really did shiver. Gaibriel grinned meanly at him then, and Skadge understood why _Rogun the Butcher_ was worried about the smuggler.

Gault laughed then, "And he's her _nice_ brother. I don’t think the other one would give you a warning before he sliced off all the protruding parts of the hand you tried raising against her, mind you." But Kastiel snorted aloud, “Is this before or after I beat him into another puddle of black-and-blue blubber?” Gault chortled raucously, actually rolling back and forth across the bench in the mess. Skadge thought he could hate the lot of them. Except they all scared him shitless, too.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to do it. But somehow he tripped his way into the middle of some secret circle of messily dangerous characters. Every one of them should have warning labels stamped across their damn foreheads, ones that read, "Will kill anyone stupid enough to try _looking_ at us wrong!" Skadge never knew there was crews like this one, even. The gangs and mobs who’s symbols he wore made him fight for every single place and spot he held, with his fists and his broken bones and his own stomping feet. But none of them would bother to stand up for him, at the end of the day. Not like Kastiel and her brother, and their people, too, all fought for each other, at least.

Hells, Kastiel was rushing off to Dromund Kaas, just cause someone there said they wanted to nab her little cyborg friend. Some kind of agent, no less. Probably the sort more than capable of ripping off various fingernails and the digits they were connected to until you plain _wanted_ to die. Mako almost spit with sheerest agitation when she talked about the guy. She called him Izak, said, "He keeps riding my ass. Like a damn tick that needs plucking off!"

Skadge didn't think Kastiel would be quick to help _him_ out of a jam, though. But she didn't try to stop him from going after Nemro, either. Kas just smiled meanly over the chance, "Couldn't happen to a more deserving slug, actually." Skadge didn't even care that she'd be the one recognized for the work. Better her name was sullied than his. That way, the Cartel wouldn’t come harping after his own fat ass. But Skadge would’ve liked having someone guarding him, all the same.

Now he shook his head. He didn’t envy them, anyway. So what if Mako had someone who shot the ass off blasted agents that wanted to steal her? Or that the Mandalorian watched over Kastiel like he was her own personal guardian protector, too. He was just fine all by his own lonesome. He didn't count on anyone, didn't owe anyone, didn't depend on anyone … Skadge snorted.

He glanced up and past the little Jawa’s boots as he kept Blizz held up in the air over his head, glaring towards the dark hallway past the grate. He was going to bathe Nemro in a bloody bath in just a few more minutes. That’s all Skadge wanted. Really. He didn’t give a shit about anyone’s group, or their team and crew. Fuckers, and he exhaled roughly.

Blizz suddenly warbled, twisting hard enough in Skadge's grip that the houk almost lost hold of him, "Let go! Grate’s coming down. Just move, you big head. Move fast!" Skadge tightened his grip against Blizz' little knees, moving quick to duck closer to the wall. There was a scraping click from above them, like metal dragging against stone, and then the grate tumbled down into the smelly tunnel where they were huddling. Skadge listened for any sounds – maybe tramping steps or loud shouts, something – but the entire space turned quiet again once the clang of the falling grate tapered away.

Blizz sniffed, "Dumb guards."

Skadge grinned widely, "Good. They're dumb enough that I can stomp out that worm once and for all. Get up there, jawa." He hoisted Blizz up into the air again. The jawa scrabbled against the side of the hole, holding onto the graveled edge briefly. Then Blizz harrumphed and pulled himself up until he was able to skirt over the edge into the dark hallway on the other side. Skadge leaned back, trying to see where the little rat had scurried off to.

And then a slender cable dropped down, plopping against Skadge's large nose. Hard enough, mind you, that his nose smarted with sharp pain. Skadge rubbed briskly against the wide bridge of his nose with angry swipes of his fingers. "You did that on purpose!" Skadge growled up at the cowled head that leaned back over the edge, so Blizz could see him.

"You won’t,” Blizz sighed a frustrated sound. “Move faster, lump."

Skadge ground his teeth together, twisting his meaty hands around the cable as he began pulling himself up along the side of the wall towards the opening. He growled as he went along, "I'll show you how lumpy I can be. I'll lump my ass right on top of your stupid head. Listen to it burst under the damn pressure …" Skadge grunted when his large chest scraped against the edge, tearing the brief leathers he was wearing. Blizz pointed at damage, "That armor is bad. You work for big fighters! But you so stupid! The Boss gave you better armor."

Skadge finished yanking and pulling his way into the hallway, grumbling, "I can fend for my damn self. Now shut up and get on with it." Blizz chirruped a low sound, almost a growl of something like disgust. Skadge ignored it as he climbed to his feet, just as he ignored every one of the hunter's pointed references to the sad state of his armor and weapons.

The items Kastiel handed towards him were pretty enough, at least. Hard, tough-surfaced chest and leg plates, large armored boots he knew she had scrounged to find, several wide-fingered iron-edged gloves. Even a helmet big enough to cover the large expanse of Skadge's face, no less. None of it mattered. He only grunted perversely every time, sneering at the pieces of gear she insisted he take. As if the stuff wasn't top notch gear and all gussied up by that Mando husband of hers, to boot.

Like he didn't give two shits, even. Hells, it wasn't like anyone saw him packing the items away so carefully, back behind the wide surface of the bed they'd given him on the Bad Boy. Because the last thing he'd admit to, was that he simply didn't want the stuff fucking scratched. No one ever gave him anything, after all. But he didn’t want them to know how good it made him feel, whenever they handed him some new thing. Like he was a part of their sorry-assed crew, maybe. Damn it.

That's why Skadge glared down truculently towards the little Jawa, sneering as hard as he could while he yanked the dented, torn armor covering his yawning torso back into place. Blizz shrugged, turning around to trot along the length of the hallway. Skadge followed him, biting back any sort of comment about the damned pattering noises the little guy was making as he moved so fast. Blizz only ever listened to Kastiel’s guidance, anyway.

She'd told them both, "A sick Hutt tends to lose respect fast enough. Nemro’ll have just a few real defenders. So it’s more likely you’ll be dealing with slaves, more than fighters. And slaves aren’t so loyal." The moaning whines and whimpers coming from the cages they hurried past assured them both Kastiel was proved correct yet again, too. Obviously, the beasts weren’t being properly cared for. Maybe they hadn’t even been fed, Skadge thought.

He briefly wondered how fast they'd gobble up Blizz, if the Jawa wandered too close to cage doors. But Blizz was smart enough to hug the center of the corridor’s walkway. Skadge mentally shrugged, thinking the jawa would prove to be only a minor bite for Nemro’s beasts and hardly worth any kind of show.

Crap, the entire place was dark and murk-ridden, with their feet sliding along puddles of … stuff, that was left to pool on the floor instead of cleaned or mopped off the floor. But Skadge had to narrow his eyes to see through the dim light of the corridors they were rushing along. Several lights were actually spazzing and blinking, with sizzling sparks making intermittent bursts of noise, too. He grunted down at Blizz, "If you trip I’ll just squish you, you little blind rat."

"I’m not blind!"

"Yea, right. Which is why you have to wear those weird little orange rocks over your eyes."

"Too much light hurts my eyes!"

"So … you're blind."

"I can see better than you do, lump."

"Rat."

"Lump."

"Rat …"

They were intent on their argument. Skadge pretty much stumbled over his own large feet as they were turning around one last corner, even. Blizz snickered softly in derision, scooting forward to avoid Skadge’s clumsy gait. Skadge growled in response. But he did stop, catching sight of movement through the crack of doorway just ahead of them. He grunted, inclining his chin towards the open space and Blizz padded forward to peek through the crack into the open room past the door.

Blizz twittered softly, barely a whisper of sound as he considered the couple standing in the yawning room ahead, "It’s a human man, with pretty things on his belt. Think we can get them from him? Boss would like them, I think."

Skadge leaned over Blizz, staring out as the pair kept up their flirtatious nerf-shit outside the doorway. There was a stupid-assed looking human with ink-black hair, topped off with a bunch of thick fuzz on his upper lip -- and why did human males do that when it made them look even more stupid than normal? But the man obviously thought he was attractive enough, considering that he kept up this stream of bantering nonsense towards the little twi’lek girl behind the big working desk.

The man was assured and adamant as he gesticulated: "Make sure the treatments I've described are followed precisely, Juda. Any deviations will throw off the medicinal advantages, and he'll slide right back into the same difficulties again. Not sure he'll survive another bout of the illness, mind you."

Skadge chuckled, murmuring down at Blizz’ cowled figure, "He’s a doctor-type. The worm really _is_ sick. Perfect." Blizz only frowned up at him, sniffing at the sour stench of Skadge’s breath. But the houk just rolled his big eyes and Blizz returned his attention to the couple outside, as the twi’lek smiled in sultry response to the human’s bantering, "You've saved him, you know. He'll want you to be properly rewarded."

The man shrugged, "Nemro's already agreed I can publish my findings." He scanned her slender frame slowly, sighing, "Besides I do believe I've been thoroughly ruined. Totally, utterly ruined. Damn that female."

The girl laughed up at him, "How sweetly you love a woman. One might even call you a romantic, Doc."

He crossed his arms over his chest, his attractive lips twisted into a sardonic grin, "Oh, I’ve been called much worse a time or two, yea. But alas … for now, I’m a ruined, broken man. Sorry, sweetheart."

The twi'lek laughed again, "You'll have to return to your female, then. Too bad, really. You're cute _and_ clean. That's rare around here, trust me." The girl retrieved a cred-chip from its resting place on the surface of a small desk situated near an isolate corner of the room suddenly. "Here, though. Credits, at the least."

The man she called Doc chuckled, "That’s become rare enough, to see me really cleaned up and shined. I've been on too many battlefields lately. But it won’t last if I'm here for much longer. At the least, my pretty Jedi would be so disappointed with me." He leaned closer, whispering loudly in feigned distress, "Did you know lightsabers can remove body parts and cauterize all at the same time? Youch." He pantomimed a dramatic bow, smiling when the Twi'lek giggled at him. Skadge and Blizz watched the doctor-fellow meander towards the far doors, then.

Skadge grunted, "I should pound that doctor fellow till he's busted-up sorry he went healing such a fracking lowlife slug."

Blizz snorted. How could a creature that made whistles more than real words manage to snort so well, too? "The doctor fellow is going out the door that leaves the Hutt palace. Not the door where the Hutt is ... Which one do you want dead – the doctor fellow or the Hutt worm?"

Skadge stiffened, "I don't need your damn wheedling nonsense help. You're stupid."

"You can’t do better?” Blizz chittered with amusement, “I’m not stupid like you. You can’t make it this far, if I didn't help."

Skadge felt the insult hit him somewhere in the middle of his great gut. Maybe because it came from some pathetically brief little rodent – a damned rat. More like, that Blizz was right.

Because Skadge couldn't claim any real brilliance, or remarkable intelligence. He'd never manage to put together a coherent series of words past, "I'll smash you." He’d certainly not garner the easy respect of his peers or teammates. He just didn't belong; and he never would. He was too big, he was oafish, and he was ugly. And no one would ever really like him.

Well ... Fine, then.

Skadge huffed, standing up as tall as he could until he towered over Blizz' miniscule frame there in front of him. He growled loudly, "Then there’s no reason to keep hanging back, then. Just get out of my damn way." The anger filled him up, like a cup filling with burning black ale from his toes all the way into a blubbering mess there in his face

He didn't even lumber. He stomped! He roared! He yelled! He threw himself against the brief door, hitting it so hard the thick surface flew back with a mighty crash that boomed through the space like something just plain exploded.

That kriffing Twi'lek shrieked as he smashed his way past her. Skadge yelled at her, a single, solid sound of the most incredible fury, "Shut up! You sound like a fucking twat! So just. Shut. Up!"

Juda's jaw clamped shut, her lips mashed together as she fought to hold back some more of those pathetic cries. She eyed the raging Houk with wide, terrified eyes. Skadge roared aloud as he spun around to launch a huge, meaty fist into the very center of the door that lead into Nemro’s throne room. The door crashed inward with the most epic boom, that Skadge leaned his head back to roar out a violent call of victory towards the roof overhead.

Juda broke. She leaped backwards, spinning on a booted heel before flinging herself towards the exit with blatant desperation. Her hiccupping calls for sobbing safety lingered behind her.

Nemro was yelling gruff cries of panic. He was calling for guards or fighters. Anyone at all who might save him, he demanded. "Stop him! Someone! All of you! Damn it, he's getting closer!" Skadge only laughed, absolutely thrilled to see the hutt sitting in the center of that huge dais, shaking and trembling hard enough his big fat belly quivered. Like a bowl of obscenely-colored jelly, maybe.

Skadge began to catch whichever one of Nemro's guards was stupid enough to come too close, grabbing them up so he could throw them at the hutt. Literally. Nemro warbled shrieks every time one of his people impacted his immense body.

The rough tusks of one Gamorrean ripped into the soft flesh under Nemro's fat shoulder.

The sharp blade clutched in the shaking fingers of a skinny human, probably dragged from one of those cheap cantinas in Jiguna - the blade sliced a long line on the lower expanse of Nemro's shaking tail, suddenly.

The round helmet of damn Duros of all things thudded into the middle of Nemro's wide, fleshy stomach, so that Nemro lost every bit of his breath and he hung there, limply gasping.

When he ran out of guards, Skadge started tossing the slaves next. Twi'lek girls, bith musicians, and dozens of random evocii - all of them went flying across the space into Nemro's wide body. Until the hutt was left gasping out pitiful, puling cries of pain, and anxious fear. Even terror. "Stop, stop! No more! Leave me ... give you anything you want, anything." Almost done, Skadge thought. Almost ... and then a puny twi'lek man stepped in the way! Right there between him and Nemro, actually standing defensively in place as he glared over at Skadge. The red-skinned man tossed his head-tails behind him, holding a rifle up as he sighted down its length.

Nemro wheezed pitifully, "Toth'lazhen, my favored lieutenant. Defend ... me."

"Of course, great Nemro. And in return for me killing this miscreant houk, you'll reward me with wealth, prestige. A palace of my own! Slaves to serve me!"

"Yes, yes! Anything! Just ... kill him! Kill ... him!"

Skadge scowled, harrumphing loudly as he glared back at the twi'lek. He knew he wasn't fast enough; he wouldn't be able to lumber across the way in time enough. Kastiel could've managed it. Torian, too. What with those stupid backpack fire-jet things of theirs. But Skadge didn't have anything but a blunt-edge vibrosword, that he kept clenched in his large lumpy fingers.

Figures.

The twi'lek grinned as Nemro promised, shooting Skadge a wide, mean smile as his finger tightened on the trigger.

And that's when the room filled up again with whistled cries of intention, chirruping bubbles of threat as Blizz flew - he fucking _flew_ across the room! His robes spun against the whirring shriek of his grappling gun as he flew along, right before the hook he shot imbedded itself in the twi'lek's shoulder. The twi’lek’s rifle jerked high overhead, so that his stupid bolt pew-pewed uselessly into the ceiling and a fine dust sprayed down over the twi’lek’s head.

Only briefly. Because Blizz' little boots impacted his face, next. And Toth'lazhen collapsed, gurgling as Blizz took to jumping wildly up and down on his head. Blizz shrieked in time with his jumps, "No shoot the lump! He's ours! Bad man, bad! Baaad!"

Skadge stood there, watching silently as the twi'lek's pained cries tapered off into gasped whimpers. Eventually the red-skinned fellow stopped making any noise at all. Skadge grunted as Blizz stumbled back off the body, sniffing and mumbling. Something about getting his hook loose from the corpse because he couldn't drag it behind them when they left.

Skadge felt his face creaking into a smile. One single wide open grin. " _He's ours_ ," the rodent said. Well, then. That's fine enough.

And he turned to look at Nemro one last time, tightening his fingers against the hilt of his vibrosword.

Who knew hutts could cry, Skadge thought, wonderingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I admit that Skadge is NOT anything close to one of my favorite companion characters. It's bothered me from my first playthrough of the Bounty Hunter story, how the guy even managed to get on board the hunter's ship! Seriously! 
> 
> It just seemed like Skadge was this afterthought of a companion. Like a developer had to give the hunter one last companion and rushed this one on board without too much thought or even introduction. Watching Skadge pound that absurd R2 unit gives you good enough reason to think the guy was just this last minute we've-got-to-give-them-something character.
> 
> Still, I found it interesting when I discovered Skadge was the character Doc complains of, the "stupid bounty hunter" that managed to kill Nemro the Hutt. I decided that telling a bit about that particular confrontation would manage to explain Skadge a bit better. At least enough to give him some kind of identity on board my hunter's ship.


	99. Hearing Through the Pain

Mako cursed silently to herself, as frustrated as ever that she was so small and slender. Oh, she was cute enough. But that's also why most fool nabobs refused to give her much mind when she tried looking threatening, too. _Tried_ , she repeated to herself, sardonically. Because it never really mattered, when all was said and done. Shit, she could stand there just the way Kastiel did; and she could mimic Kas' cool bitter gaze or even that quiet assurance that seemed so much a part of her, too. But Mako always ended up more adorable than intimidating to the people that faced her. And it was moments like this one, when some bastard just looked past his big twisted-up mess of a nose and went right along threatening her into paying more than she agreed in the first place, that she really wished she could _scare_ someone, instead.

Mako glared up at his looming figure -- he was a grossly fat human with pudgy fingers he kept using to try pinching the slender curves of her buttocks. His nose was pocked with nasty, fleshy pustules, and he kept rubbing his fingers against the bumps. Like they were itching or something. That habit was disgusting enough, and Mako nimbly slid out from any contact with his fingers. Again and again.

Hells, maybe that was what offended him so much. He leaned over her and barked at her like a damned akk dog in a hutt’s arena field, “If you shook your cute little titties a bit more, I might be more inclined to lower the cost. ‘Till then, you pay.” Mako stiffened into the best intimidating figure she was capable of, reaching out with one hand to slap his fingers out of reach of her posterior. Again! He actually grunted angrily at her, then. But Mako didn’t care much for his poor widdle feelings, either.

"That wasn't the agreement, you sick slug. And don’t touch me. No telling where you've stuck those nasty digits you call fingers, other than those crinkly bumps on your damn nose. All I know for sure is they're not getting near my 'cute little titties'. Not ever." She wagged her finger at him, holding it straight and pointed at him as she dramatically canted it to and fro, "Uh hnn … We settled on a price and I passed over the credits you asked for. Now give me what I bought."

Mako wouldn't have thought the human could get any uglier. But his skin flushed brightly red, enflaming those blister things on his nose until they looked like a series of blotted marks on a roadmap of some sort. Blinking red at her, in fact. Then he tossed his head to the side, making the thick brown braids his hair was gathered into fall back in sodden clumps against his back shoulders. As greasy and unkempt as his hair was, the fact he could move the mess that much was impressive, actually. But Mako only shuddered with sheer unmitigated drama, her cute little face twisted into pure disgust as she passed her gaze up and down his fat frame. The fellow seemed to belch more than shout, then, "Ya little bitch! I'll show you how we treat snotty little brats around here. Dorn! Come get this little girl under control. Hell! We'll charge for the show!" He turned like he was going to cry out something like an advertisement, then.

Because everything was for sale in a place like this one, Mako supposed. There were enough varied characters milling around the tables in that marketplace the Exchange hid in the tunnels under the city certainly seemed attentive enough, what with all the heads and eyes craning for a better look at their growing altercation. Mako certainly wasn’t surprised that the Exchange had carved out a niche for itself, either. Not even here on Voss and even if they hid their little black market in the caves under Voss-Ka. And everything – but everything! – was for sale when it came to the Exchange. Especially if you weren’t strong enough to hold onto it. Still … only a fool would bank so much on Mako’s size to gauge her capabilities.

Dorn was the same Neimodian that Mako talked to over the holo before making her way down through the winding trails out of Voss-ka, actually. Mako sniffed when Dorn actually took a step closer to her. But that's when Torian suddenly loosed a growly threat from there behind her, too, and Mako bit her lip to keep from laughing when Dorn’s head-tails quivered in shocked surprise and his blue skin turned a more sickly shade of green. Hells, he looked more like one of those sea-colored vegetables Kastiel liked to munch on sometimes. Oh, Mako might have mentioned that Torian was nearby and watchful the entire while, of course. But right now she just enjoyed the terrible look of dismay spreading across Dorn’s fish-faced features way too much.

And Torian really was that good at staying quiet and unobtrusive, too. He once told her, that, “Guarding a potential target is really more difficult than destroying one. Only because you have to see every possible strike rather than make for a single blow. But it can be easier if they don’t know you’re watching them, first.” So that's why Torian loitered near one of the merchant tables close by rather than stand next to her. Only Mako really understood he was intent on every bit of the argument she made with the wart-faced buffoon of a seller the entire time. These were the materials that Tobie needed to replace Kastiel’s failing implants, after all. Torian was certainly aware of every brief utterance and each shift of motion the ugly fool with his pock-marked nose made just as soon as he appeared to lumber over and confront her.

Now Torian moved fast, sliding in front of Mako so smoothly close that the hot wash of her breath left a moist impression on the armor plate covering his left shoulder-blade. She heard the crackle of electricity then and she knew Torian had fired his staff to present an even harder threat, too.

Mako imagined the look on his face. Imagined it, because all she could see now was the hard, metallic edges of Torian's armored back. Mako was close enough to see the specks and dents on the painted plates from where he'd rubbed or bashed up against surfaces, armored and otherwise, actually. Since she couldn't say it to his face, then, she snorted towards the back of his head, "It's those scars of yours, you know. You scare the shit out of people when you growl and glare at them enough your scars pull up tight against your face, Torian. One of these days you'll have to tell me what they mean."

Torian grumbled loud enough for the pock-marked fool and his Dorn could hear him, too, "The marks mean I'm stronger than they are. That I'll win any fight they make." Dorn backed up so fast he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Actually, his feet were overly large even for a Neimodian. But Torian kept glaring at him, and his black, bug-like eyes widened even bigger from his panic. Both his hands shot up high into the air, as he insisted, "No fight from me! No, not me. I'll just stand back here. Way back here …" Dorn kept going, going; he continued backing up until he felt safe enough to turn and run away.

But the ugly, fat human stood his ground. Mako was glad she didn’t know his name. Mentally calling him “ugly, fat human” just worked, for her.

He glared over at Torian hard enough his blistered nose turned brightly scarlet, almost beet red. Like his nose was one big blister in the center of his face. Torian would have admired his stupid bravery if the man's big belly would just stop trembling from agitation. The man blustered gruffly, "This isn’t any of your business, Man-doe. We were just … negotiating, is all." Torian shook his head. Slowly, even. As if he was addressing a person so lacking in intelligence he couldn’t appreciate the simplest nuances of speech and conversation. Mako realized suddenly that most Mandalorians talked to people like that, like they were constantly instructing a whole galaxy full of idiots. Maybe that's the way they perceived everyone they called an outsider, in fact.

Not that Mako cared how far down their noses Mandalorians regarded anyone. Hells, most people Mako met were at least slightly idiotic. Although … Mako frowned. Did Mandalorians think _she_ was something of an idiot, too? She nearly poked Torian in the back, to ask him right then and there. But by then Torian was talking to the ugly guy. So Mako just peeked through the small curve between Torian's upper arm and his torso as he remained poised there in front of her, protective and adamant.

Torian was really, really pissed, Mako realized. She heard it in the way he bit out his words, like the sounds were blaster bolts fired from his sniper rifle. And damn her, if Torian wasn’t a deadly shot with that sniper rifle, as he was a real one. He asserted, "You don't decide my business, _sheb_. You touch Mako, and you die. It’s simple enough." Mako saw the fat man shift his bulging abdomen, reaching up to rub one of the pustules just above his left nostril again. She grimaced at the distasteful sight, glancing sideways towards the small gathering of varied passerby who were now pretending they weren't watching the altercation. When everyone really _was_ , rather.

Mako almost laughed when a group of four Gran turned all their eyes towards the big fat man with his ugly nose facing down the stiff armored form of the Mandalorian warrior. She counted quickly – that made for no less than twelve eyes glued to the potential violence. The sheerest attention strengthened mister Fat and Ugly's resolve to look tough. That was the only reason Mako could think of why he wouldn’t back down, actually. His own goon was beating head-tail away from the fight already. But Fat and Ugly was trying to impress every one around them – all these watchful passerby who only just might pass along some smooth words how big and tough he was. Instead of just how fat and ugly he was, of course.

Except he picked little, tiny, and slender Mako in order to prove his big, bad self to all of them. Without once counting on her back-up being far more deadly and impressive than his own. By now, Fat and Ugly’s large frame was shaking and his beady eyes kept darting around to see if anyone tougher would step up to help him.

But Torian didn't move. He only stood like a stone-faced wall of Mandalorian fucking-iron with Mako tucked neatly into cover behind him. Mako practically sang out an amused snorting sound that might have been a laugh if she wasn’t trying to bring the entire thing to a close, even more. Torian growled out, "The negotiating's over with. You've been paid. Give us the metals." Mako sidled sideways just enough to see the guy.

She stayed more behind Torian than not, though, so that his shoulder and arm continued to shield her. Her caution pleased the Mandalorian, and Torian grunted a pleased sound over her defensiveness. Mako ignored him, though. She just pointed towards Fat and Ugly, "You're trying to keep the materials after taking my payment. You keep this up, and I'll make sure everyone in the Exchange hears about this. Oh, I'll blast your identity from here to every corner of the galaxy the holonet reaches. _Everyone_ will hear your deals are nothing but bantha shit."

Fat and Ugly scowled at her. He eyed the twist of cybernetics arching over the curve of Mako's eyebrow, grumbling, "How you going to do that much with failing implants?"

Mako crossed her arms over her slender torso, sighing like she was only bored with the entire situation. She rolled her eyes, "You think I need an upgrade to get something so damned simple accomplished? Seriously? Or wait … Do you blast all your clients’ details around when they buy items off you?" The subtle reminder she'd expose the man's greedy grasping after things he didn't earn or deserve was grating. Enough that the man clenched his fingers into bulging fists. But then he suddenly smiled wide, grinning madly as he turned to saunter towards the countertop in front of the alcove that counted as his shop. Even Mako could tell he was so full of it, and she scowled angrily as he started chirping over his shoulder towards her. Like he was suddenly some damned songbird, no less: "Well … Sorry for the misunderstanding, then. Let me just get you your property."

He was bent over the counter to reach towards the ground, leaning over. That, and his complete focus on the threat Torian made was probably why he never once noticed anyone else moving to join the fray. Too bad for him, Mako thought, smiling grimly. Because what Fat and Ugly didn’t miss once he raised himself up, grasping a narrow blaster in one of his fat, meaty hands, was the heavy round circle of the rifle barrel that pressed itself straight into his face. Up against that pock-marked nose of his, no less.

"Heya, Corso! Don't go shooting off that pretty nose of his! He probably tries charming the ladies with that nasty piece of meat, anyway," Gaibriel was saying as he pushed his way through the small crowd of watchers and curious onlookers. The smuggler was only barely fingering his own blaster where it was tucked against his hip as he ambled, and he raised up one eyebrow when he caught sight of the ugly man’s cross-eyed glare up at Corso from over the steel-edged circle of the rifle’s barrel Corso was lifting up. Gaib eased his finger along the line of his jaw, chuckling, "I’ve got to say, Garver. That the way you’re crossing your eyes, there, doesn't improve your looks at all. Trust me ... Heya Mako, what did this piece of hutt-spit sell to you?"

The smuggler didn't look over at her; hell, he didn't have to. Gaibriel knew Torian would keep her safe enough, anyway. So he only kept his ice-blue eyes trained on the bastard who had threatened her in the first place, ignoring the hoots from those nearby who realized the famous hunter of Nok Drayen's treasure was on such personal relations with the little cyborg that he knew her name.

And Mako’s voice rang out like a line of staccato bolts flying across the space, too. She even announced it loudly, “I gave him twenty thousand credits, Gaib. For a single pair of aural amplifiers. They need to be dual-tipped, and made from lutetium. Tobie was _very_ specific." She knew that was enough information, too. Mako knew Gaibriel would glean just who it was that needed the materials quickly enough, even. So she wasn’t surprised when Gaibriel’s jaw became so tight and stiffly hard as he stood there and he shifted until his brilliant blue eyes turned cold and terrible-looking towards ugly-nosed Garver.

Mako asked Corso once why he started following Gaibriel around the galaxy. It was a laughing conversation, so she actually thought at the time that he would give her nothing more than a lighthearted answer. But Corso actually turned serious over the question. He didn’t chuckle or even smile, and his mouth just turned all straight and firm when he told her: “The captain’s a good guy, Mako. Oh, he doesn’t give any kind of care for some planet’s so-called laws, no. But he’s _decent_. And he damned well protects his sisters. Never seen a man more intent on keeping his womenfolk from being hurt even the tiniest little bit.” And Mako knew – she knew! – that Gaibriel Duncan wouldn’t consider the pain Kastiel endured from her broken hearing to be a “little bit” of hurt, either.

Garver seemed to realize the captain was that much intent on thumping him around, too. He actually gulped audibly loud, so that people nearby him chuckled over his obvious panic. He jerked a quick nod towards Gaibriel, almost panting by this point, "I didn’t know these were friends of yours, captain. Seriously. I had no idea. I thought you were here for Scratch, actually. Hey, he’s the one that helped me get a hold of the stuff, I swear."

Gaibriel’s blue eyes stayed icy, though, "You stink worse than a rotten fucking pile of shit, Garver. The last time I saw you back on Quesh, I thought it was the lousy stinking air that made you reek. Now I realize the truth, that you’re just naturally putrid. Like a fetid corpse, even.” He pointed at the man, "If you don’t want me to make you a corpse for real, you’d better keep your rancid self as far from me or mine as it’s possible for you to be. Do you understand me, Garver? Don’t even breathe in our direction again!"

But Corso tsked when Garver started to turn, like he was going to hurry off on those stubby legs of his somehow. Corso grunted when Garver looked up at him instead, “Don’t forget Mako's amplifiers. Put the items so gently there on the table. Right there, yea.” Garver really did hold his breath then, as he slowly lowered a small crate onto the counter-top. And then Gaibriel gestured Mako towards the container. Mako nonchalantly edged around Torian, to reach out for the box. She inspected the contents quickly enough, and she sighed with satisfaction at the precious items tucked up in soft paper there inside the crate. Mako nodded carefully towards Gaibriel.

Torian waited until Mako had reached him again before he grunted one more time. Mako's eyes widened as he called out in a strong tone, "Corso, that _sheb_ wanted to make a profit from showing off your woman’s pain up there on the countertop." Mako gasped, pushing against Torian's shoulder as she made to turn back around. But Torian easily snatched her back, spinning her behind him as Corso's snarled growl filled the air.

And that was how neatly Torian diverted any attention from the ties between Gaibriel and Kastiel. In the end, it was nothing more than an altercation between a man protecting his lover and the nasty-faced slob who threatened her. Even then it was only a gross sort of entertainment, too. Everyone of them who saw actually gagged against the sight of Fat and Ugly Garver's shattered and blistered nose when Corso bashed the butt-end of his rifle into his mug of a face.

* * *

The Voss curved the palm of her red-skinned hand over the thick glass of the tank, marveling at the press of fluid inside that cradled the woman's body while she drifted peacefully inside. "Your ... kolto? It is the same color as my father's skin, although more luminous. I wonder over its healing properties, however. I would like to know how it works."

"It's harvested by people known as the Selkath. They’re an aquatic species, from a world covered almost entirely by oceans that's called Manaan. The Republic once tried to circumvent their gathering of the kolto when they built a base under the water. But the base was attacked by an immense creature the Selkath worship, a giant shark." Tobies leaned his head down to better consider the blinking readout against tank’s base. He hummed with real satisfaction before glancing sideways towards the Voss healer. Her fascination with the entire surgical process was easier to tolerate in light of how quickly Kastiel recovered, actually. Now Tobie very nearly smiled at Vonna-Xo, "The Selkath are quite as neutral as the Voss, in fact. The Sith angle for new supplies of kolto right alongside the Jedi sometimes."

Vonna-Xo tilted her head to the side so that she could regard this Tobies Mor. There wasn't anything exceptional about him, that she could see. His hair was the color of the Voss sky, although burnished with gray along his temples, and his eyes were as pale-colored as the kolto in the tank. Some Voss would have said his skin look plain and milky, and barely attractive. But she found his intelligence and pugnacious attitude particularly fascinating, rather. She _liked_ Tobies Mor. His eyes brightened with obvious pleasure every time he saw how quickly healed the small, flawed human inside the blue kolto was, anyway. It was obvious the female’s welfare was precious to him, and it made Tobie’s features quite alluring when his blue eyes sparkled and his mouth curved upwards into a smile. And then he made the most interesting sounds, too! Little hums and huffs of curiosity, clicks of his tongue, and even the smallest sighs … Vonna-Xo enjoyed every brief noise he made.

Although she didn’t truly understand why he cared so much about this particular woman, either. She was no child of his. She wasn’t his mate, or any sort of relation to him. It was a very strange respect he seemed compelled towards, and she didn’t understand it. Vonna-Xo studied the unconscious and unaware female in the tank, considering her, "I am not certain I understand the Sith, either. We’re told they are dangerous and cruel. Yet one of them sacrificed of herself so that I could heal our Voss people." Tobie only shrugged. He labored under no illusions about the Sith, not even on the world of Voss. Anything he said could be used to undermine the Empire’s efforts here.

At least, the Sith wanted an alliance with these people. It was their strength that assured them a place as valued allies rather than subjects, actually. But Tobie knew the Sith wouldn’t forgive him if he carelessly ruined their careful maneuvering. Tobie doubted the Voss were foolish enough to take much of what the Sith promised close to heart, though. They were singularly direct, unfailingly intelligent and focused, and far from foolhardy. So he picked his words to Vonna-Xo so carefully. He murmured to her, his brow furrowed thoughtfully, "The Sith respect the Voss. There aren’t many who can earn their respect, either. That’s why I might easier accept what they promise, anyway. They would not want to suffer Voss reprisal."

Vonna-Xo smiled at him, "We only make equal exchanges. For everything given there is a price. The Sith are no different in such expectations. And yet ..." The Voss woman frowned in contemplation then, thoughtful for a moment, "I only wonder. Do you think it is unusual for a Sith to love and adore someone aside from themselves? A lover or some member of their family, perhaps?"

Tobie shrugged, confused, "The Sith encourage strong emotions. But I'm no Sith that I can explain their real inclinations."

Vonna-Xo hummed a brief sound as she turned back to the woman floating inside the tank’s blue fluid. She touched her red hand along the cold surface, judging the sensation of the pressing fluid inside and how frosty it felt against her warm palm. That, and the difference in color between her skin and the fluid itself. It was intriguing. Her eyes glowed softly as she considered aloud, "The one who gave her own energy so the Voss could be healed – she shares blood with this hunter. A sibling … her sister. She will destroy the woman who looked for the hunter to die, because the hunter was merely that much threatened. Would you call _that_ love?"

Tobies More lowered his head. Lusiel was on Voss! His thoughts whirled, trying to make sense of how the siblings could avoid confrontation if they kept coming so close together. Perhaps it was the Force working. As if the sheerest potential in every one them so consistently drew them close to one another. Or they were just that much useful to the Empire and the Republic both, maybe.

But Lusiel? He was too unfamiliar with Kastiel’s Sith sister. He had only rarely caught sight of her; and he never actually spoke to her. Lusiel was sent to Korriban by her mother’s relatives so quickly after Lucian’s death, only a year and one half afterwards. Tobie devoted himself to Kastiel’s healing in those first months, though, so he never had a chance to meet Lusiel when she was little and still untouched by the Sith teaching. And then he wasn’t sure if he should risk it, either.

If Lusiel was Sith enough, she wouldn’t bother herself to prevent her younger siblings from being misused. She might even regard them as threats and seek to destroy them herself. Although Kastiel admitted she had become doubtful Lusiel even knew Khyriel was abused, let alone that her aunt destroyed Tamerie and her children. Kas told him, “She didn’t come after me for the beating of that idiot Faradin – she didn’t bother with any of the Hejaran complaints, actually. I’m not sure she even _likes_ them so much. Although her dislike isn’t as strong as I’d prefer, either.” None of which was reason enough for Tobie to confront Lusiel now, here on Voss. She'd likely hate him, even if she didn't hate them.

He had failed his friend’s children so badly, anyway. All those years coming close to Gaibriel, only to learn he was sold or moved to some new world to be worked or abused even more. Khyriel endured the Hejarans’ sullen hate every damn day, too. Kastiel gave up very nearly everything trying to save them both, and then she woke from nightmares for years that she would never have the man she wanted, who made her feel _safe_. And Camiel? Tobie clenched his eyes shut rather than imagine what happened to Kastiel’s baby sister. How could he even consider telling Lusiel how much he’d failed them all? Even if he thought she would forgive him, the pain of seeing disappointment in eyes that were so much like her father’s ruined him.

_Lucian, I’m sorry_ , he thought. He should have done _better_ for them!

Tobie looked towards Kastiel slowly drifting in the kolto tank as she healed all over again. The pain would devastate her again, eventually. And again. The damage Karen Hejaran did to Tamerie’s children was too extreme – and it would always be a part of them, really. That's what convinced him, then. Because Lucian loved his children. He loved them so much, that he died to make save them from being hurt anymore. And Lusiel was his own daughter.

She would _never_ forgive Pella Hejaran. Tobie actually smiled towards Vonna-Xo with grim certainty as he thought of it: “Kastiel’s sister will know eventually how much she was hurt. She will hate everyone of them for causing it and she will destroy them far better than they ever tried to destroy Kastiel." Then he shook himself, “But for now, I need to let Torian know his wife’s healed again.”

* * *

The skies of the planet Voss glowed pale orange, even on the best days. But when the afternoon started shifting towards night, the light almost seemed to become nearly metallic-looking. Like sheets of copper that slowly spread out to cover the ground. The light of the setting sun turned into brassy stripes that stretched out over the floor of the room where they quartered, until it highlighted Kastiel’s skin into burnished tones of gold paleness.

Torian’s breath caught when he saw her as he came into the room. He stopped in the doorway, watching her breathlessly.

Kastiel was leaning close to the mirror that sat in a deep niche on the wall, carefully examining the silvery twists of metal that curved delicately under her eyes. Tobie had removed the grayed and corroded implants that marked the soft, pale skin under both her eyes when she first marched into the Hunt’s melee back on Dromund Kaas. He replaced them with gleaming lines of metal that left her eyes looking even bigger and more deeply brown than Torian had ever seen, and all without leaving even one more scar on her face, too. Tobie only shrugged as he described the process, "I’ve refined the technique after so many years of working at it.” The kolto even healed the bruises the surgery would have left behind. But Kastiel’s brown eyes narrowed critically as she examined her reflection.

Kastiel murmured a small sound as she turned her head to consider both her ears, first one and then the other. The lutetium that composed the implants tucked into her ears blazed with a red glow in the afternoon gloaming. Her implants looked more refined now, more delicate as they curled into the gentle shells of her ears. Until you very nearly couldn't tell they were implants at all. They looked more like decorations, rather. Like finely jeweled baubles, maybe.

Kastiel snorted at her reflection suddenly, shaking her head in a pique so that her dark hair fell back over her ears again. She muttered aloud, "Was he trying to make them look pretty? Why the fuck would he go making them fucking _pretty?"_ She jerked her head around when Torian huffed a low laugh from where he stood in the doorway.

Of course she heard him. Tobie warned him that Kastiel’s implants made her hearing exceptional, just normally. But the reconditioning of the devices made her hearing even more acute in the immediate, too. Tobie warned him adamantly, “She’s typically uncomfortable for several days after a new series of implants. But she’s accustomed to the transition, all the same. Be grateful you never saw the first few times I needed to make adjustments – her first implants were put in place when she wasn’t even seven, mind you. She screamed from the pain of it for three days and then took to hiding her whimpering to keep from upsetting me. But after all these years, she’s far better at dealing with the discomfort."

Torian turned hard and rigid as he stood there, listening. But he didn’t respond, except to spin around and go looking for his _riduur_ , then.

Torian thought there might come a time he didn’t remember what Kastiel looked like the last day she could hear without implants in her ears. Maybe when he could no longer stand to imagine her learning how to hear through the implants, perhaps. But then he also felt the burning pride of knowing she was that much strong, too. It was _Mando'ad_ _–_ that she battled without stopping every day and became stronger and better for just making the fight. So the conflicting feelings only kept up their battle in his chest every time he looked at her like this, actually _._

Kastiel slowly ran the tip of her finger along the soft edge of her ear to rub the curled metal nestled there, “The first man I killed, I’d just received a new set of implants. So every time he screamed, it sounded like nails dragging over a metal sheet right there in my ears. This is easier, here.” She looked down then, grumbling as she plucked some of the threads out from the seam of the bright-colored tunic and loose pants she was wearing. "Maybe Tobie decided on prettified implants, because everything about these people and this place is pretty. Was it Gault who picked out these _purple_ clothes?"

Torian raised up one eyebrow, and he smiled. Then he crossed the room, stepping softly because he knew that stomping his way along would likely offend her newfangled hearing. He refused to hurt her even that much. She shot him a dirty look, for his being so overprotective.

But Torian felt more than entitled. He was the one who caught Kastiel when she stepped through the airlock doors after returning from Dromund Kaas these past days. Her knees buckled finally from the pain that was pulsing against her temples, and he swung her up into the cradle of his arms. She'd buried her face into the crook of his neck, and she whispered to him, "That Coral was a bitch to take down. But it hurts, Tor. Shut them down, now. Stop it ..." Mako had been in near tears as she followed him, describing the fight while Torian rushed Kastiel to their quarters. He settled her back against the cushions of the bed.

"It was always Coral. She worked to make Izak look like the goon who wanted to wiped us out, but it was always _her_! That bantha dung bitch! I hope she fucking rots!" Mako paced back and forth near the doorway, watching Torian fumble over the controls to Kastiel's implants. She saw Torian’s fingers were shaking, but he managed to stop Kas from hearing anything else, nonetheless. He loosed the buckles of her armor, pulling the plates away from her form so she was able to curl into a soft ball in the center of the bed. He knew when Kastiel buried her face in the cushions at the head of the bed that she was hiding her pain from him, still.

Torian growled like an angry hound, then. He ghosted his fingers along the side of Kastiel’s face, watching her blink blearily up at him through the silence that blanketed her just then. He demanded, "How long was she like this?"

"I noticed how bad she was hurting soon as we stepped out of the spaceport in Kaas City. I mean, she was rubbing her forehead every few minutes. But you know her, Torian! She insisted on getting the job done first and she blasted Coral to pieces once we found the bitch, too. Hells, Coral never even noticed how bad it was!" Mako grimaced guiltily then. But Torian only grunted as he set a hypo against Kastiel's hip, "Her implants were starting to fail back on Belsavis. She shouldn’t have gone." Torian shook his head when Mako stepped forward, prepared to tell him something about her remorse or apology. He waved his hand, though, "This isn’t your fault. The job needed doing. But _I_ should have gone with you, not Kas. That's all." Kastiel drifted into a drugged stupor then, and she stayed that way for the few days it took the Bad Boy to wing towards Voss. They had planned to meet Skadge and Blizz there, where their next target was, anyway.

But it was Torian who called for Tobie to join them there, too. He told him, "It's bad. We tried turning off her 'plants. Only, it's not helping anymore." Tobie hummed unhappily, and then he turned contemplative, “The human brain wasn't really designed to maintain that type of continuous neurological sensation, is my theory. But I do have some ideas, particularly some alloys I want to try. I'm hoping to give her decades this time, rather than a few measly years. That means I'll need some help ... get Mako on the holo. She'll have to gather some supplies for me."

Now Kastiel stood there, with a perfectly adorable moue shaping her mouth as she plucked at the purple fabric of the clothes Gault passed into the room earlier. Torian bit back a laugh as he reached her, murmuring, "You couldn’t wear armors in the kolto tank. Although that might have presented a rather impressive sight, now that I think of it."

Kas blinked at him, laughing lightly as she slapped his shoulder just where it started curving, "I see you've kept your own armors in better place, though." He was wearing every piece of his armor actually, including a new pair of armored gloves that he located at the market nearby. Which made the gloves look garish because he hadn't had the chance to color them to match the rest of his pieces, yet. But she could tell they fit his hands and wrists far better than the ones he replaced. That’s why he would wear them, then. Anything that helped a warrior move better over the field, or to raise and swing a weapon was worth picking up, anyway.

Torian nodded his blonde head firmly enough, emphatic, "This is a strange place. And even stranger people. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you." She smiled over the rightness of his statement. She might have claimed it was only the Mandalorian honor that always made Torian’s core. But it so perfectly meshed with her own understanding of constancy and balance, too. It’s why she was able to find a place among the clans without too much of a hiccup, anyway. She belonged among them, as much as she belonged alongside Torian.

And he _knew_ that much about her. Maybe it came from seeing her eyes looking at him from over the soaked fabric he pressed to her face when they were both so little and scared and fighting to live. But Kastiel believed it was more, too. After all, it was Torian who went hunting for her small form after her mother died cradling her beneath a shattered body. That impulse, to be close to her and protect her and provide for her, was just as real even right then, when he was still only a boy. Even then, he was part of her. Like they were two puzzle pieces that fit together.

That’s why it was only Torian who could show her the parts of her own self she didn’t recognize. Oh, she knew how important it was to her, that no one was able to hurt the ones she loved. But Torian was the one who showed her, that she could succeed at keeping them safe, too. She was that strong. She poked out her tongue towards him now, too. And then she scowled, “But _purple_? Seriously, did it need to be Gault you sent looking for clothes?”

Torian did smile. But he dropped his chin so she wouldn’t see, and Kastiel playfully leaned sideways back and forth as if to catch sight of it. She bumped her clenched fists against both his shoulders, trying to tickle him through his armor, and eventually even Torian barked out a laugh. Then he lifted up the pack he was clutching roughly, high enough Kas could see it clearly, and he assured her, “Well, I did bring you real coverings. I even fixed the new dents in your chest-plate. Coral gave you a good fight, Mako says.” He settled her armor onto the floor nearby the narrow bed where she’d woken up, then.

Torian was smiling and she stared at him, watching as he placed her armor against the floor nearby the narrow bed where she'd woken up. When he looked back at her, he saw she was watching him intently. Her expression was strongly possessive, and he canted his head softly to the side as he murmured, "What is it?"

Kastiel still seemed to be glowing against the backdrop of afternoon light. It made him breathless to look at her, and then her eyes darkened like the warmest candy. He always wanted her. But right then there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to _taste_ her, too. Kastiel felt her female parts turning warm and wet as she looked at him, and she hummed, "I'm going to win this fight soon, Tor. Then I want to make a babe with you."

Torian's breath hitched and his golden-brown eyes blazed. He inhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring as he fought to give her a tempered response. Because he felt like shouting aloud and snatching her up to carry to the closest cushioned surface. His desire was so strong, he knew the little Voss bed would break under them if he did grab her. He barely caught himself from testing the chance, actually. He only scanned her slender form with heated eyes. Then Torian reached out to frame her waist with both his hands so he could pull her closer. His gloved fingers tapered softly over the flat surface of her abdomen, which was bared by the brief purple fabric of the halter-top shirt she was wearing.

Torian brushed his thumb over the pretty jewelry tucked into the little button in the center of her belly, and he breathed out to her, "I want that. I want it a lot, Kas."

"Good." Kastiel grinned, especially when his soft touch on her flat belly tickled her gently. She playfully tussled with him briefly, and Torian gripped her harder to make her really laugh. Eventually she collapsed against him, chuckling, and he only held her wrapped in his arms with her face pressed to the rough surface of his armor. She laughed out and her breath raised the tiniest moisture bubbles over the plate against his heart, "We can play at coming up with names for him in the meantime."

Torian grunted, "I want a girl, actually. Like you were, when you were still small …   _Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya_." Torian actually closed his eyes as he imagined it and he thought he could very nearly picture what Kastiel’s girl child would look like, with big brown eyes just like her mother’s. He slowly opened his eyes when Kas translated the words softly under her breath.

“Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger.” Kastiel stroked her fingers along the line of his jaw when he hummed in agreement. She smiled at him, “It doesn't matter, either way. You will be a good father to them, and that’s all I care about."

Torian pulled her close enough, so that the thin cloth of her pants didn’t hide the heat between her legs from him anymore. He buried his face into the curve of her neck, nuzzling the soft skin on her throat with the tip of his nose as he told her, “I’ll be the father to your babies, Kas. I promise you.”

Then he went about the process of breaking that Voss bed.


	100. Auretiise

Porol hunkered down onto one knee, leaning against the messy shuttlepad floor as he stared out from behind the edge of the dirty tent. He blithely watched the shuttle lift off from the ground, carrying more of their Mandalorian troop off Taris. Another blast of stinking air came off the nearby toxic pools as the shuttle drifted up into the air. As if the blasted planet itself was slapping him in the face, too, Porol thought. He would likely suffer the damned reeking stench of this world in his every pore before he got off the surface.

Not that he was willing to join the jostling group of warriors waiting for the shuttles, either. He wasn’t so much interested in being slapped and pulled through crowds of boisterous Mandalorians, either. No. All he needed to do was hang back, only wait a while. And then he would earn a more comfortable spot on one of the last flights off the planet. So what if Taris just kept slinging insults his way while he waited, and damn the world. There was never comfort enough, regardless.

He deserved better! He’d _earned_ it, damn it! After all these years of kneeling down in the muck and dirt of filthy, ravaged worlds and surrounded by yelling, raving warriors who never knew better than to rush into yet another stupid fight. Damn them all! He should have been off this awful rock weeks ago, winging his way to better things and surrounded by far more plush luxuries. Who would have imagined a silly bounty hunter would be as dumb-ass stupid as the rest of the clan fighters, too?

But the Champion didn’t even look when he called towards her – she didn’t even glance at him when he called out to join her team! No, the stupid bitch only took that _aru’tal_ warrior and used him to destroy a black list target! Damn it, an _aru’tal_! That was all anyone could talk about for weeks, was the hunt for Jicoln and how the champion finally tracked down the traitor. She won the Cadera clan its name! Damn. Her! She should have recognized _his_ worth, not helped Jicoln’s son find his own.

Porol wanted to spit the truth to the lot of them, that he would make sure she was paid back tenfold for the insult. Oh, damn her for raising up an _aru’tal_ so high the Mandalore himself said his name again! Porol was determined to break her into pieces!

Except the fool Dromund Kass woman who’d hired him only managed to screw things up. _Again!_

It’s why Porol glared down at the holoimage of the female, now. And so what if she was trimly beautiful? It’s not like he’d ever have the chance enough to touch her pearly pretty skin, not if her high-handed ways and purely bitchy attitude was any sort of indication. Because damn her, too. She certainly didn’t see the obstacles she kept merrily creating for him to contend with, and she wouldn’t care overmuch if he was destroyed along the way, either.

Porol’s stomach actually twisted sourly. But he just snarled down towards the image, “You don’t think it’s enough to set a Mando after the Champion, you also need to loose rumors of it, too? Because you want her to be on the watch for me, huh?"

The blonde-haired harpy twisted her pretty mouth into a semblance of smile towards him. Bitch! She even sounded joking when she replied, “Oh, and here I thought a big, strapping fellow like yourself could take down one small slip of female. It's one woman, barely grown!"

Porol grunted in pretend amusement, "And you wonder why Mandalorians think you're all so much idiot _druk_." He wondered how she managed to reach the age she was while staying so gorgeous and fine. But then, maybe she really did bathe in the blood of innocents. Like a monster from one of the old stories. That’s the only way her skin could stay that pale and perfect, even when she frowned so much from ferocious temper. The thought really did amuse him as she practically spit at him via the holo, "I am losing patience with your intransience, you fool."

He shook his head. Only someone who didn’t grow up among the clans would require a lengthy explanation. And she called _him_ the fool! "Her age is beside the point. Hells, if she’d been born in the clans she would have earned her first armor by the time she was thirteen. But I’ve heard stories she fought full-grown men when even the _Mando’ade_ would’ve called her a child, too!” Porol sneered, "But then there’s the _aru'tal_ who fucks her, too. No … That's one slip of a female who never fights alone!"

"I have no idea what an _aru'tal_ is, actually, nor am I interested in listening to your absurd translations." Pella Hejaran tapped her chin with a long slender finger, looking thoughtfully contemplative. Pretty, even. "If it’s her lover who frightens you, then separate them. How difficult could that be, really? Tempt her away from him, maybe."

His eyebrows raised up over the woman’s utter blind stupidity. But he masked the telling disdain. It was important that he kept her unaware of the bonds the champion enjoyed with her people, anyway. Why give her so much understanding as that? He only grunted, "That’s more difficult a task than you imagine. Which makes it cost more."

She didn't like _that_ , either. Her pretty lips crushed thin in protest, even. Until her mouth was just this briefest line above her chin. He almost laughed at her, to say it so wasn’t a pretty look on her fact at all. But she practically growled at him, "No. I've already tasked my nephew to see that you finish the job. I’ll instruct him to help you do it, too. Since the task is so difficult, apparently."

Porol snorted loudly. Oh, he wasn’t worried over the minor inconvenience of some citified Imperial nobleman trotting along to check on his handiwork. A simple impediment, that he’d easily remedy if he had to. He shrugged blithely enough, "I told you, your fine-assed family will only slow me down, woman. Keep your dandified nephew at home, where he won't chance getting his pretty hands all bloody and messy."

"Far be it for me to disagree with the terms of the job, such as they are. But my nephew will not concern himself over dirtying his hands. He’s not even vaguely squeamish. Just get her off by her own self, away from those fighters of hers, and he will kill her." She screwed her mouth into another thin line when Porol snarled at her. He didn't even try stopping himself from cursing at her for the mess she continued making of his damned life. He told her flatly, even, "You'll just kill your nephew along with me, you dumb bitch."

"As if such a chance even bothers me."

* * *

 Kastiel tried ignoring the little fellow. But the overly thin human man in his tidy Imperial uniform made the entire walk along the way to the Ambassador's office a singular test of her patience. He actually trotted every little while just to stay in front of her. As if walking in front of her would somehow prove to the people watching them go along that he was some notable, significant kind of guy. Kas considered booting him in the rear, just to ruin the fancy-assed show he tried making.

But that would stop her own entertaining game, that came from intermittently speeding up and slowing down her pace. It kept him jumping to match her, of course. Kastiel practically smiled over the pure fun she was having. Especially when Torian slanted her a brief curl of his lip, too. He hadn’t liked the man’s condescending sneer anymore than she did, apparently.

That’s why Kastiel just kept the _di'kut_ jumping after her treading steps down the way, waiting for him to stumble over his own feet, basically. And she didn’t even smile one time, that the fool man couldn’t keep her “in her proper place" as he'd called it.

He just kept chattering inanely over his shoulder. Like a broken record, "… You must remain on your best behavior. I’m not sure your kind is quite capable of that much, really. But even your common sense should be enough to keep you from endangering the Empire's efforts, here. Mind you, the Voss are still stubbornly aware of their own importance …" Prattling nonsense, she thought to herself. But then Kastiel caught sight of the brightly colored fabrics that spilled down across the surface of a nearby hawker's booth.

Kastiel jerked her chin sideways towards Gault, until he looked at her. He was oh-so-slowly ambling along with them, still. Of course he was – he wasn’t even hiding his delight over the show they were making, just grinning wide as he followed them along. Now Kastiel shook her head at him emphatically. The devaronian peeled a wide smile at her as he slowly pointed towards a length of really _purple_ fabric on the table. Gault would probably hang fucking curtains made of that fabric right over her own bed, the ass.

Gault laughed aloud when Kastiel scowled, so she actually turned towards him and started to raise up one finger ... But the aide suddenly barked at her, "Are you even _listening_ to me? It's important, that you remain out of Voss-Ka proper entirely. They've forbidden outsiders from that part of the city. Do you understand?"

Kastiel bit back an exasperated sigh. She looked at the man, "I could take notes, maybe. But I won't."

The stick figure of a man spun in place to face her. He was intensely affronted, his face flushed dark from the strength of his emotional upset. To Kas, he looked like some sort of pale-skinned exotic frog on a far-off world, all puffed up with his own sense of importance. Except that he was so pitifully skinny the entire effect came off as more amusing, rather. His voice did manage an enviable croaking chirp right then, though, "Are you that lacking in appreciable intelligence? It is vital that you pay attention to me!"

They were all stopped in the roadway by now, with Kastiel’s mouth so slightly turned up at the corner. Torian shuffled his feet alongside her, easing closer until his shoulder brushed her own. Reminding her, really.

But Kastiel only let her mouth bend further until she was really smiling. She was too practical-minded to act with overt violence against the idiot Imperial. After all, he just couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t able to provide a real challenge, past acting like a hutt-spawned _barve_. It cheapened his value in any contest with her, no matter what the little nabob wanted to believe.

Oh, and she really wasn't here to piss off her employers, either. The Sith wanted to make friends on Voss and the Voss weren't keen on violence in their streets. That’s why Kastiel would properly avoid violence in the streets. The streets, at least.

No. Kastiel just subtly tilted her chin and her red-skinned, silver-tongued friend immediately slid between her and the fool-faced blockhead of an officer. Gault even started his sing-song routine right away, "Oh, how completely you misunderstand, my good sir! What my beauteous bounty hunter employer _actually_ said, was that she wouldn't be the one taking notes. That's Mako's job, you see." Gault dramatically gestured towards the little cyborg with his palm outward, like he was some royal figurine making a political introduction and smiling politely the whole time, even.

It was almost magical. Give him enough time and Gault would cozen the skinny Imperial into any number of ventures, Kastiel thought. Not one of them would be legal, either. Kastiel grunted softly as she thought about it.

Mako had joined them outside the prettified building where the Voss “allowed outsiders to practice their crude medicine” just back down the road, shortly before the aide found them. Crude or not, Kastiel’s ears felt heaps better and Mako was happily describing her brother’s recent adventures that brought him to Voss when the skinny ass of an Imperial came pattering up to them. He interrupted Mako’s refrain, in fact. Perhaps that explained Kas’ angst with the guy.

Hey, Gaib helping to get her the materials for her new implants didn’t soothe Kastiel’s temper over his recent antics. She actually grumbled about how stupid he was, even: "He looted an Imperial cruiser? Is he out of his kriffing mind, Mako? Shit, he’ll have the Empire putting markers on his head before he’s done." Mako hummed then and Kastiel glared over at her, “How many markers are already placed?”

Mako shrugged, "Some Imperial _druk_ calling himself 'The Voidwolf' is promising a blasted fortune to whoever manages to get a hold of Gaibriel's 'lifeless, black and blue, rotting corpse'. Wait, let me quote the whole thing. Get this … it says he’s a ‘smart-mouthed hooligan lacking in the most basic levels of common sense and good only for the decoration of some whore's bedroom wall’." Mako might have kept herself from laughing, except that she saw Kastiel biting her own lip. So she burbled an amused huff of sound, "Hey, I don't know what it is he did to tick off this Voidwolf guy. But he really did a good job of it."

Kastiel coughed a single laugh as she caught sight of the ambassador’s aide coming their way right then. She didn’t doubt her brother's talents were exceptional enough to garner attention from very impressive enemies, actually. But she would be personally damned if any hunter managed to claim a single drop of blood from her baby brother’s nose, either. She murmured to Mako before the skinny aide was close enough to overhear, "Seed the warnings, Mako. I'll so fuck up anyone who actually tries claiming one of those markers."

Now Mako scowled angrily at Gault. She kicked him suddenly, sending one pointed toe of her boot into the seat of Gault's pants. The devaronian yelped a startled sound, curling his backside inward until he was almost hunched into a defensive position. Mako snarled at him, "I'm no flunky secretary of yours! You want notes, take them your damn self!"

Gault wailed, "Hey, watch it! My ass isn't fluffy enough! That fucking hurt! Shit, Mako! You might have taken out my dang gonads! Do you know what Hylo would've done if you broke that part ..." Gault leaned over to dramatically inspect his crotch, gently patting his supposedly abused manliness. Mako's tiny nose pinched with disgust as she watched him.

"You and I both know Hylo would probably laugh her ass off if she thought your balls were squished into little pools of sour jelly. She'd probably ask for pictures. Or a vid!" Mako crossed her slender arms across her dainty chest, still scowling mightily, "I'd make a night of it, invite her over. Pop some bang-corn!"

Gault sighed dramatically and clasped one of his open palms over his heart as he pantomimed weeping motions, "You are a hard, cruel woman, Mako! It’s why our Imperial overseers can rest assured we’ll abide to the letter of our agreement. You’d make us sorry if we failed in our vaunted task, here!”

Kastiel dark eyes were twinkling wryly when the officer turned his narrowed gaze back to her again. He might’ve launched into another bitter diatribe, but Kas smoothly cut him off. She raised up a single gloved hand and waved one of her fingers back and forth in front of him, "You see? My people are well aware of what needs doing here on Voss. Your warnings aren’t necessary. I just need to talk over my work here with your Ambassador Yoran. So let's get to it."

The prissy little aide gaped at her, then. His mouth actually opened and closed several times while he tried formulating a response. Kastiel thought he looked like a strange aquatic beast from one of the more common water worlds. Like that absurd mon calamari crewmember on Gaibriel’s ship, maybe.

Kastiel sighed, looking over at Torian as they shared another long, meaningful look.

_Aruetiise_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more Mandoa words:
> 
> Mando'ade - Mandalorians (pl); sons/daughters of Mandalore  
> aru'tal - blood of the traitor; the son/daughter of a traitor  
> di'kut - idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> aruetiise - outsiders, foreigners, or traitors.

**Author's Note:**

> All characters and story is property of Bioware and Electronic Arts, and kudos to them for some exceptional story-telling! You guys are absolutely awesome!


End file.
